


if you should fall into my arms

by kakashihatake123



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Additional Tags to Be Added, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2018-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-17 02:44:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 38
Words: 76,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5851108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kakashihatake123/pseuds/kakashihatake123
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sansa looked at her mother, aghast. “I thought the marriage laws were abolished more than a hundred years ago.”</p>
<p>“Well...” Her mother began, her jaw tightening. “As it turns out they were not. The crown never formerly abolished these laws, they only stopped enforcing them and after a few decades people seemed to have forgotten them.” </p>
<p>Sansa felt as thought the bottom had dropped out of her chair and as she looked at her parents she almost did not want to hear the answer to the question she posed, "What does this mean for me?"</p>
<p>Her father let out a long sigh. "Your birthday is in two days." he said, his eyes hard. "After that you will have a fortnight to be married before the crown will officially appoint a husband to you."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

_Chapter One_

Sansa should have known something was the matter at once. From the moment Daenerys had dropped her off in front of her home and saw the driveway was not empty, nor were the lights of the house dark. She had barely gotten through the door, dropping her school bag from her shoulder and moving towards the kitchen, aching for a cup of tea after a long day, when she had heard the slide of the wooden door of his office as it opened. “Sansa?” a voice had called out, questioning.

“Father?” she replied, looking down at her watch. It was only one o’clock. He was never home this early during the week. “What are you doing home?”

“Come here please, dear.” Came another voice. Sansa’s eyes narrowed even further. Her mother was not due from the hospital until six.

Sansa turned the corner and walked to his office, feeling the coldness of the air after she had shrugged out of her coat at the door and knew the heater was turned off. Her father’s office was very much like her father himself, stern and minimalistic and very much immaculate, not a trace of dust daring sweep into the room.

He sat behind his desk, leaned back in the leather chair and her father’s face was as ashen as thought he had not slept in a few days. He leaned forward, his hands folded so tightly in his lap that his fingers had blanched white. At his side Catelyn stood, her doctor’s coat still hanging over her shoulders and her face looking just as crestfallen as her husband’s.

There was a letter on the table before them and for one stupid moment Sansa wondered if it was from the college. But she knew if it was it would only hold news of her perfect attendance or a notice from the dean that she had once again made the Queen’s dean’s list.

“What is it?” she asked, a hundred knots forming in her stomach. Her eyes flicked back and forth across their faces. “Is…everything alright? Is everyone alright?”

“Yes.” Said Catelyn, her mouth pinched. “Everyone is alright.”

But that had not answered Sansa’s initial question and her eyes fell back down to the letter, frowning when she realized the ink was too small for her to read from the other side of the desk.

“Sansa...” Her father begun. “There is something you must know.”

The knots in her stomach only tightened. Her father was always so put together and friendly before the family but now he was as firm and unyielding as those at his work always complained her was. She knew this must meant he was delivering bad news.

“Who is that letter from?” Sansa asked sheepishly. Half of her didn’t want to hear the answer. She wanted to jump to her feet and run away as fast as she could, taking shelter at Dany’s house and hoping this would blow over by the time her parents found her.

Her father flipped the letter over and her heart jumped when she saw the King’s familiar sigil and seal. “What…what does it say?” she asked. “Are you in trouble?”

“No.” her father answered. “It is regarding you?”

She felt as thought the bottom had dropped out of her chair. “Me?”

What did the King want with her? The thought was terrifying. Her mind flickered back to the summer break they had spent in the capital with the Lannister’s and Baratheon’s and Joffrey pitching stones at pigeons to see which ones would cry out when they were hit.

She almost wanted to get it over with. Whatever news her father had summoned her to discuss had clearly upset him and the thoughts running through her mind had to be far worse than whatever the truth was. “What about me?”

Her mother let out a long sigh and ran her fingers through her hair. “The King has decided to return to law the old marriage laws.”

The words hit her like a thousand stones and she felt herself physically reel from them, sinking into her chair. “What?” she demanded. She was more than familiar with these laws, the history degree she was working towards demanding she knew everything about everything. “The marriage laws…”

She knew it could not be a joke. Her father would never joke about such a horrid thing. Her eyes flicked to her mother, who gave her an almost imperceptible nod. “But…”

Her father continued, let out a withered sigh. “King Robert and his cabinet believe it would do well to be put back in place-”

“But why?” she interrupted before feeling guilt pull at her stomach. Her face was contorted in anger and her voice had fared no better and a flash of hurt crossed her father’s face. “I’m sorry.” She squeaked. “I just don’t understand. The laws were abolished more than a hundred years ago.”

“Well.” Her mother began, her mouth pinching again. “As it turns out. They were _not_. The crown never formerly abolished these laws, they only stopped enforcing them. After a few decades people seemed to have forgotten them.”

“No.” Sansa murmured. It was manipulative and slick and sounded that very much like something Tywin Lannister had a hand in. “What is the point of the laws? They were implemented to continue the births of noble children from royal families and lessen marriages between nobles and commoners.”

Her mother shook her head. Her father ran his hand thorough his dark hair, a sign she knew meant he was filled with anxiety, and took a long drink from his teacup.

Sansa jumped to her feet, the surprise of the gesture seeming to hit all of them equally and her parents jumped. “What if I won’t do it?” she asked. “What if I refuse?”

“They seem to have anticipated this. The letter says that if one is not married by two weeks after their birthday- or nameday as it says here, very official,” her father gave a short scoff of derision, noting how very Tywin Lannister this all sounded. “A spouse will be appointed for you.”

She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. “People have to be protesting.” Sansa said, aghast. “It’s against out human rights to force people to be married when they turn twenty-one.”

Her father gave a pained expression and Sansa felt her stomach drop again, the sense that this was about to get a lot worse filling her. “Actually,” he began, smoothing the pleats in his trousers as he uncrossed his legs. “We are telling you this now because we did not want you to hear it from anyone else first and…because it pertains to you now. They were at least kind enough to emend the law to begin at the age of twenty.”

Sansa stifled a gasp. It had been horrible when she had thought she would only have a year to find a husband but now it was all the more sinister. “How long do I have?” she asked, afraid of the answer.  

Her parents exchanged a look and Sansa could almost feel the sound of her dreams of travel and adventure being washed down the loo. Her father looked like he could strangle Robert Baratheon with his bare hands. “Two weeks from the day of your birthday.”

Whatever she had been expecting it was not that and she felt her next breath come out like a little choke, caught in her throat like a piece of food she had not properly swallowed.

Sansa felt sick to her stomach. Her birthday was in two days, conveniently a week before Christmas, so that every year she was always able to celebrate it with her family and without schoolwork. As she sat before her father’s desk she could feel every aspect of her life changing. The desire to flee was suddenly very strong.

“This is inhumane.” She said, letting out a half scoff, half shriek. It was not medieval Westeros anymore. Women were no longer bought and sold into arranged marriages like cattle. "Robert is your friend. Can't you speak to him about it?"

"I have." her father sighed again. "That is where I have been the last two days. Along with, I might add, Aerys Targaryen and Mace Tyrell."

"That must have been a fearsome sight." her mother scoffed, the image of the two short, balding men standing beside the broad shouldered, barrel chested King Robert almost enough to make Sansa laugh. 

"Nearly all of the council protested the law being put back into place but it seems we were outnumbered." Her father continued. Sansa suddenly felt very selfish for thinking only of herself in this matter. Dany had already turned twenty a few months ago and Jon was already twenty-two. Even Aegon would soon be approaching the age of twenty.

She stiffened at the idea of the rampage Arya would go on when she was told of the law. Sansa imagined it would include lots of things being thrown and curses being shouted.

Her mind flickered with the faces of her friends, all approaching or having surpassed the age. Robb. Theon. Podrick. Renly. Loras and Margaery. Arianne. Samwell. Dany and Jon and Aegon. She wondered who they would all marry. 

"Can I be excused for a minute?" she asked and her mother nodded, sinking into a chair beside her husband and looking upset, burying her face in the crook of her husband’s arm.

By the time Sansa reached the phone in her schoolbag she found Robb had called twenty-three times in the last hour and he answered on the first ring, sounding increasingly exasperated. “I can’t believe it.” he said, thereby answering the question she made to ask. She wondered if her parents had told him already or if he had found out in some other way.

"I know." she replied, running her fingers through her hair and leaning against the counter. She heard a loud crash in the background. “Where are you?”

“At Jon's." her brother replied. She had already known that from the way Dany was shouting frustrated in the background. "Dany is throwing potted plants."

“So everyone has found out then.” She said, wondering if she was the last person to know. "Married? I'm not even twenty. I don't want to be married.”

"I know, love." her brother cooed. "But I'm sure mum and dad will think of something. They won't let us wed someone awful." he reassured.

“How’s Jon doing?” she asked, hearing his voice in the background as another crash sounded.

“He’s trying to stop Dany.” Robb answered. “But he feels the same as we do about the law.”

“Everyone does.” She heard Dany shout, throwing another pot. “Come over so we can egg Robert’s house.”

“I’ll be over in a bit.” Said Sansa, hearing Robb enter the house with a slam of the door so he could speak privately with Sansa.

"I just don't understand the point of this law."

Robb sighed, sounding so much like their father. "I don't either. I suppose it’s their effort to continue the births of royal children. That's the only reason I can think of that they would add a sex rule."

"A what?" she demanded, so loud she was sure her parents could hear her from three rooms away. "W-what are you talking about?"

"I guess mum and dad didn't want to tell you that part of it yet." he sighed again. "I'm sure they were trying to ease you into it. Jon and Dany got their copy of the letter this morning and it says," he paused, probably looking for the letter. “’Under the order of King Robert Baratheon, first of his name blah blah blah, spouses are required, under law, to complete sexual intercourse thrice monthly until an heir is produced whereupon which sexual relations will be lessened to twice monthly.’"

Sansa wanted to die. The thought of her having sex with a stranger three times a month made her face burn and her stomach twist into knots. She dropped her head into her hands, so upset she could not even speak for a moment. The sky was darkening and without any light switched on the kitchen was far darker then outside. Sansa took comfort in it, sinking to the floor and playing a game of hide and seek with her responsibilities.

Finally she whispered, "What are we going to do, Robb?"

On the other end of the phone Robb Stark winced. He was suddenly rocketed back in time to when they were both young and Sansa would seek his advice or comfort. She used to burrow under his arm and wait until he kissed the top of her head. "I don't know.” He replied, sighing again. “If it comes to it…you should marry Jon.”

"What?" she demanded, her arms curling around herself.

"I'm quite serious." Robb said firmly. "You two have always gotten on well, you attend the same university, you know each others families-"

"-by that logic you should marry Dany." Sansa countered, smirking in the darkness.

Robb let out a chuckle. “And fear having my head taken off my a cactus plant?" 

Sansa heard footsteps and knew her mother was descending the hall, whispering to Robb that she would join him at the Targaryen house later with the news of whatever happened.

"Honey?" her mother said, the kitchen lights filtering on instantly. "Are you alright?"

"Yes." Sansa lied, jumping to her feet and wondering whether her face was red. “I just dropped by phone.” In the bright light of the kitchen she could see the lines of her mother's face, deepened by the worry of the new laws and Sansa felt all the more upset.

"I'm so sorry Sansa." she said, her cold fingers touching Sansa’s face. "I cannot imagine what you are feeling right now."

Her mother looked like she was about to weep and of all the horrid events that had transpired that day, the prospect of her mother crying was by far the worst.

"It's alright, mum." Sansa pretended, Catelyn’s hand coming down to stroke her daughter’s hair.

Sansa knew it would all blow over soon enough. If every powerful family in Westeros protested this there could be nothing to do but formerly abolish the laws. She just had to wait it out. 

She wondered whom she would marry and her mind drifted back to Robb’s words. Jon would make a fine husband, kind and sweet and able to make her laugh easily. He was even quite attractive, though she had always ignored this as he was her brother’s best friend and therefore off limits to crushes and flirtations.

But Jon was as interested in her as Robb was interested in being hit by one of Dany's plants. 

"What are you thinking of, dearest?" her mother asked. 

"Nothing." Sansa lied easily, looking at her mother with half narrowed eyes. "Just wondering who the man I'll have to sleep with three times a month is."

Her mother looked instantly angry. "I will kill your brother." she said, rolling her eyes. "If we could your father and I would shield you from every horror in life." she mused, brushing her face away from her eyes. "Your father is doing every thing he can to fix this."

"I know." said Sansa. "I'm only worried. I don't want...I don't want to be with another man like Joffrey."

Catelyn looked mad enough to put her fist in the wall, her crimson hair and icy eyes only adding the fierce look. "You never will." she said, holding Sansa’s shoulders and forcing the girl to meet her eyes. "I would take you and Arya and your brothers and flee to Essos if it meant protecting you from that...that little...that blonde..."

Sansa smiled and hugged her mother. "I just worry that’s why they are doing. They wanted me to marry Joff from the beginning. Do you think?"

Catelyn looked serious, pondering the thought. "I would not put it past Cersei." 

Sansa knew that if she were to ask any of her friends they would most likely accept her invitation of marriage out of loyalty and out of their own need for a spouse. It sounded so ridiculous, even as she spoke to herself, and she was glad she had not mentioned this to her mother or brother.

She wondered what Margaery was to do. The girl had been happily dating Brienne Tarth for almost a full year and according to the law, a marriage was defined as the joining of one man and one woman. Sansa made a note to call her friend later and see if she could do anything to help.

“Sansa.” Eddard Stark said, appearing in the kitchen. His hand held a short glass of Dornish whiskey and from the redness of his cheeks and the state of his half lidded eyes it was not his first glass. “Your mother and I were speaking and…” he trailed off, looking at her face and frowning. “We think we know a man who would be a good husband.”

“What?” Sansa asked. It had been under an hour and they had already chosen a husband for her. How long exactly had they had this letter for? She dreaded their answer, thinking her father might put forward Tyrion Lannister or Podrick Payne. Both were nice men and she was sure she would have a perfectly platonic relationship with them but neither Sansa would ever be in love with.

Her mother stepped forward. “That’s what I came out here to tell you.” She said. “We think...well we _all_ think- your brother agreed,” Sansa’s stomach was filled with dread as she anticipated her mother’s words. “That even thought this is a difficult thing to accept-”

“Get on with it Cat.” Her father urged, his dark eyes looking at his daughter.

Catelyn took a breath and continued without pause, before she lost the nerve she had built up under the scrutiny of Sansa’s sparkling blue eyes. “We think that you should be wed to Jon Targaryen.”


	2. Chapter Two

_Chapter Two_

Sansa had only been waiting for Robb for a few moments when she saw the flash of headlights on the street outside the house and knew he had arrived. She smiled, knowing she had only called him ten minutes earlier. But they had always had a bit of telepathy between them, able to sense the emotions and thoughts of the other. He probably knew her parent’s words had shocked her enough to want to escape the house for a while.

She pulled on her cloak and closed the door behind her, bidding goodbye to her parents over her shoulder. She slid through the open front gate and heard the click of the car’s door as it was unlocked just before she ducked into the passenger seat

“I see the talk did not go well.” Jon Targaryen said.

Sansa jumped halfway into the air and accidently jabbed her leg with the seatbelt she had been clicking into place. She had not glanced at the drivers seat yet to greet whom she had assumed would be her brother.

Sansa flushed red enough to put a tomato to shame and she was thankful that night had settled around them so Jon could scarcely see her face. “No.” she answered. Every inch of her was tense. Had her parents already spoken to him about their proposal or had Robb? She hoped he knew nothing of it at all but if he did not, why had he gone out of his way to give her a lift?

“It’s a shite law.” Jon continued when she did not elaborate. She gave a weak smile, thankful for the lack of pressure he had put upon her, even though she knew he could not see her face in the darkness. “I’m sure it will be overturned soon enough.”

“Yeah.” Said Sansa. She was acutely aware of her awkwardness and lack of conversation and frowned. It had always been so easy with Jon in the past and she knew she was putting too much thought into this. “How was your day?” she asked, hoping she sounded conversational but knowing it sounded somewhat forced.

Jon looked at her out of the corner of his eye and she felt her blush deepen. “Dany hit me with a cactus.” He said, showing her his arm.

Sansa had thought he was kidding but as he lay his arm in her lap she could see half a hundred dotted red marks curling across her forearm and over the crook of his elbow. His arm was heavy in her lap and after she had inspected the marks she felt her eyes crawl upwards, looking at the deep curve of his toned bicep and to the veins that bulged beneath the skin of his forearm.

He was handsome. Very handsome. She had always been aware of it but had always pointedly ignored that about him, knowing he was her brother’s friend and he was wholly uninterested in her.

“Other than that it was alright.” He continued. “Robb bought dinner. I saved you some, are you hungry?” she nodded, ignoring the fact that her stomach had turned at the notion that Jon had thought of her.

Another beat passed between them. Jon watched the road and Sansa watched Jon watching the road. He seemed so calm as he drove, leaned back in the chair, his booted foot moving back and forth between the gas and the brake. His face was completely at peace, his dark eyes passing across the road and reflecting the light from the other cars.

“Did you calm Dany down?” she posed. His fingers tightened around the curve of the steering wheel as he turned down a winding road.

“Yeah.” Said Jon, cracking a smile. “When I left she was still screaming about a violation of her human rights and that if she had to marry a man like Petyr Baelish she would move to Qarth.”

“Who do you think she will marry?” she wondered aloud.

Jon gave a shrug. “Robb if the Gods are good. I’ve always thought that those two belong together. And friendship could eventually turn to love.” Her eyes cut suddenly to him, thinking that he did not seem to be speaking about Robb and Dany anymore.

“Yes.” She agreed. Another best passed between them.

"Do you want to drive around a bit?" Jon asked. The question startled her and she tensed visibly, the street lamps they drove besides lightening the car enough to make her discomfort visible. Jon faltered, his words coming out in a stutter. "I figured you might want to talk about...about the law."

"Oh." said Sansa. She felt weighed down by her sense of dread and she felt her hunger ebb only to be replaced with nausea. She could not believe the situation she was in and that she was currently sitting beside her future husband, a man she had known all her life.

"We don't have to.” Jon said quickly. She could see his hands had tightened around the wheel again. “I just thought you would-"

"I would like to." Sansa said, giving him a small smile. “We should speak about it. Before…” she trailed off.

The street to the Targaryen house came and went and they continued on, passing the ice cream shoppe that they used to go to in secondary school and the park where Robb had taught her how to roller skate and Jon had picked her up when her skate had caught a stone and she had flipped over, skinning her knee raw. 

"Jon." Sansa said suddenly. He looked at her again, the light that shaded through the window illuminating his face. "I know that you only agreed because my father asked you. I know that I could have been forced to marry someone I don’t get along with so even though I don’t agree with the laws…thank you.”

The car had pulled to a stop and Jon had turned to look at her, his eyes watching her evenly. There was a moment that passed between them before he smiled softly, reaching out to take her hand before thinking better of it and turning to flick on the heater instead.

“I didn’t.” he began and for a sickening moment Sansa thought that he had not agreed to wed her and she had just embarrassed herself passed recovery. She gave an internal shrug, vowing she would move to Qarth with Dany. Jon seemed to gauge her reaction and continued, his hands digging into the pockets of his jeans.

“I mean I didn’t do it because your father spoke to me. And he didn’t ask me- if that’s what you are worried about. He came to speak to me a few days ago to show me the letter and tell me I would be getting my own in a few days and we got to speaking about it. He was worried about you. About whether or not King Robert would try to force Joffrey to be your husband.”

Her face darkened, a curtain of red hair falling in front of it. “I am worried about it too.” She admitted.

A shared thought passed between the two, both remembering the night Sansa had phoned Jon and begged him to come and get her after Joffrey had left her on the side of the road for complaining about his driving. She had been so scared, huddled on the side of the street where there was no sidewalk, lucky that she had been able to grab her phone before his car sped away.

“I could have killed him.” Jon muttered. “I should have. Then he could not have hurt you again.”

“It’s okay.” Sansa lied, hoping to change the subject. She was always so thankful that Jon did not press her. Even then, when his car had come screeching to a halt beside her and he had jumped out, looking so furious she had been worried he would strike her. But he had only taken her in his arms, hugging her so tight that her arms were pinned to his chest and she could not wipe away the tears that fell down her cheeks and made wetness stretch across his shirt.

Jon gave her a look that said it was very much not okay but still he did not press her. “We’re friends.” He said, giving her a reassuring smile.

Sansa felt her stomach tighten again. They had always been friends but hearing him say the words felt unfamiliar, but in a flustering, comfortable sort of way. Sansa wanted to turn to him, to smile and say that she would have done the same thing for him but she only nodded, agreeing with his words.

"I don't want to interfere with your life." she said. It was her greatest and most potent fear besides the thrice-monthly sexual interactions she was going to have with him. "We can be married just on paper. You can date whomever you want.”

Jon lifted his eyebrows. "Is that what you’re worried about? I'm not exactly fighting off the girls, Sans."

Sansa smiled and felt the unease balloon out of her like a breath. She remembered the nickname, liked it even. It was one only Jon and Robb used and she found herself smiling before she even realized it, the gesture comforting to Jon, who was afraid he had worried her.

She squeezed his hand lightly, feeling the rough calluses of his fingers brush against her skin. The desire to run her fingers across the veins in his arms became overwhelming.

“The same goes for you.” Jon said. “You want to travel and write and I won’t interfere with that. Husband and wife on paper, right?”

She turned to look at him, a part of her wanting to scream that was not what she wanted. That she wanted to travel with him, write with him and about him, hold his hand and kiss his sweet lips. But instead she only widened her smile to a degree she knew looked genuine and squeezed his hand once more before speaking. “Right.”


	3. Chapter Three

_Chapter Three_

_Jon_

They had gathered in the kitchen for a moment to accompany Sansa, who had gone to reheat her dinner, and had never left. Jon and Robb sat on the couch, Jon’s hand icy cold from the dew that rolled off the beer in his hand and his head was contentedly fuzzy, the second beer having done the trick of coaxing the nerves from his stomach and the anxious thoughts of rejection and commitment from his head.

Robb was half listening to their conversation, most of his attention turned to the game of rugby that just returned from commercial on the telly before him. He and Dany had just finished arguing over who disrupted the scrum, the argument ending with Dany slapping Robb’s shoulder and Robb tickling her until she almost threw up from laughing so heavily.

“Do you have another beer?” Sansa asked, wiping her mouth with a napkin.

Dany jumped down from the counter to dig through the refrigerator, coming up empty handed, her face still red from the laughter that had dominated her body. “None left, love.” she cooed, ducking down to check in the cupboard.

Jon swirled the remaining liquid around his beer and found it almost half full. On a normal day he would have finished it himself but at the moment he was holding a secret too surprising to not spill out of his drunk lips. “You can have the rest of this one, if you like.” Said he, trying his best to sound sober and nonchalant.

Sansa accepted his invitation, her soft lips coming upon the head of the amber coloured beer. Jon watched the bob of her throat as she swallowed and tried not to revert back to his grammar school self, thinking that her mouth touching the space his mouth had just been was almost an indirect kiss.

Gods, he thought, running a hand through his hair. He was drunk. Was it his second beer or his third? His empty stomach grumbled that it was his third and without any foot to absorb the alcohol the fuzziness in his head only grew.

And Sansa was beautiful, just sitting there upon the counter, her legs crossed beneath her and a bowl of rice and pork balanced in her lap. Her eyes were tired and her lips now slightly swollen from the pull of beer from the bottle but she looked lovely. And completely at ease in his house.

Even before she had started and finished the beer she had seemed to relax, the tension that had built in her thin shoulders easing before completely disappearing. He had been glad to see it go.

“Some people seem to be taking this better than others.” Robb Stark said to his sister, turning the laptop in his lap so she could see it. Jon could see the screen was filled with an image of Margaery Tyrell holding hands with Renly Baratheon, both holding glasses of what looked to be champagne, a large banner in the background reading, ‘Cheers!’

Dany gave a half shrug of her shoulders, working at the rest of her beer. “The girl is clever, I’ll give her that.” Dany replied. It was a perfect system, the more Jon thought about it.

Sansa agreed, wiping her mouth with a napkin. Dany had braided her hair earlier in the night and the long, crimson plait lay over her shoulder, the few tendrils having sprung free from the braid now falling into her eyes no matter how many times she brushed them away. “If Margaery married Renly and Brienne married Loras, they could both continue their respective relationships without anyone being the wiser.”

“What do you think Arya is going to do?” Robb asked. His thumb was lazily unrolling the label from the front of the beer, the glue sticking to his skin annoyingly.

Sansa blew out her lips in a sigh. “Maybe this will force her to admit she has feelings for Gendry.”

“As if.” Jon laughed. “Those two are more in denial about their feelings than…” he trailed off suddenly, knowing he was about to say, ‘than Robb and Dany.’

“Than who?” Dany said, furrowing her brows.

Sansa came to his rescue, sensing his discomfort almost telepathically. “She still has some time, at least.” She said, taking the last sip of the foaming beer and gritting her teeth against its bitterness. “She’s only eighteen.”

“Maybe she’ll marry Aegon.” Robb mused.

All three people turned to give him a look. “Do you remember the time they were training for their match in fencing club and Aegon stepped on her foot and Arya jumped and poked him in the eye with her foil ‘by accident?’” Dany asked. “That’s what their marriage would be like.”

Daenerys had calmed significantly from her afternoon fury and was no longer throwing plants but she did not seem any happier about the matter, her light eyes narrowed and her knees drawn to her chest, muttering under her breath about feminism and human rights.

Her face was aglow with the heat of the six shots of Dornish whiskey she had taken and whatever filter of propriety she might have used was obliterated. “I’m sure people are happy about it.” she said, her light eyes rolling. “They’ll be happy for an excuse to marry their grammar school sweethearts.”

“Have you seen today’s paper yet?” asked Jon, throwing the folded paper at her, her light eyes scanning the headline with another roll of her eyes.

“’Love In Westeros.’” Sansa read aloud, resting her chin on Dany’s shoulder so she could read it. “This is the most absurd thing I’ve ever seen in Westeros Daily and that’s saying a lot. Remember when they printed the story about how Jaime Lannister’s new prosthetic hand was going to be made of pure gold.”

Dany laughed. “Or how Tyrion was having an affair with Rhaegar, just because they caught a photo of the two coming out of the court house at the same time.”

Sansa turned her head to find Jon looking at her, his eyes cutting quickly away, focusing absently on the rugby game. But he was unable to look away for too long and when his gaze returned to her face he found her smiling, the redness of a blush having spread across her cheeks and nose and even down the slope of her pale neck.

Dany drew her legs tighter to her chest, resting her chin on her knees. She had fallen silent, her eyes looking off into the distance quite seriously. “San, do you think they did it just because of Joffrey…”

Sansa took a long draw of tea and Jon noticed the way her hand shook as she lifted the teacup. Something inside him went white hot with fury at the thought of Sansa scared of anyone, but especially of Joffrey.

All their eyes had fallen upon her, even Robb, who turned away from the telly just in time to miss the winning score of the game. But he didn’t seem to care, his dark eyebrows furrowed deeply. “I wouldn’t put it passed him.” Sansa whispered.

Dany frowned. “Can you believe that it’s legal to tell us when we have sex?” She huffed. “Three times a month? Next they’ll be dictating what position we do it in.” Sansa dropped her teacup with a crash and brown liquid splashed across the floor. Across the room Jon squeezed his half of the newspaper so tightly that the paper split down the middle.

“Sorry.” Sansa squeaked, her voice as high pitched as a cartoon character.

She dropped to her knees to wipe up the splatter and did her best to avoid Jon’s eyes. He had not wished to bring up that fact in front of her, unaware of whether or not her parents had clued her in to that aspect of the law and he did not want her to think that he had only agreed to marry her so that they would be legally obligated to have sex.

On his other side Robb gave him a strange look and Jon pretended to read, pushing the two halves of the paper together so he could hide his red face behind it.

The next hour was spent with Robb and Dany tossing out the names of possible spouses and Jon and Sansa doing their best to act natural in the face of their discomfort.

“What about Podrick?” Dany asked. She lay with her head in Sansa’s lap, her leg propped up on the back of the couch, her pale foot twisting in the air. Sansa was looking at the crackling fire, her eyes far away. Her nose was red from the cold that filtered in through the window Robb had cracked and she was still trying to push the hair from her face.

“Podrick?” Robb replied with a terse chuckle. “Sansa would eat him alive.”

“Or Oberyn.” She continued.

Jon choked. “My uncle, Oberyn?” he asked. “Oberyn Martell, Oberyn?”

“He’s very handsome.” Dany mused. “And he would certainly treat her nicely. Plus the three times a month rule could actually be quite fun if-“

Jon nudged Dany with his foot, shooting her a warning look as Sansa’s face only became redder and redder the more they spoke. “Dany can you come here for a second?” Sansa asked, rationing that it would be better for Daenerys to hear the news from her than from the papers or another one of their friends.

Jon watched her go and Sansa looked at him over her shoulder, giving him a slight nod and he rationed to do the same thing, pulling himself closer to Robb and pausing the telly to break the connection between he and the match he had rewound.

“What is it?” Dany asked, gauging Sansa’s serious face. “Are you still thinking about the laws? San, we will figure something out. I promise.”

“Well actually-“

She was interrupted by a loud slam, both girls turning on their heel just in time to see Robb tackling Jon out of his chair and throwing them both to the floor, rolling around on the red and yellow Meereenese carpet Rhaegar had bought.

Sansa bristled, assuming Jon had just told him the news, but Dany was unfazed, thinking the two just being in disagreement on the outcome of the match.

The silver haired girl turned back to face Sansa, awaiting her news. “What were you telling me?”

“Well…” Sansa begun again. “Actually I’ve found someone to marry.”

Dany looked shocked, her eyes widening and her jaw dropping. “Who is it?” she demanded. “Is it Oberyn because I’ve always thought that he liked you and-“

“It’s not Oberyn.” Sansa said, giving her friend a pointed look. Sensing her next question she continued, “It’s not Pod either. Or Tyrion. Or Jaime. Or any of them for that matter.”

“So who is it then?” Dany asked, clearly excited for Sansa’s admonition.

Sansa took a deep breath, ignoring the crash that sounded from the living room, and spoke. “It’s Jon actually…”

Daenerys’ expression remained completely blank for a moment and Sansa’s stomach turned, afraid her best friend might wrestle her to the ground, as Robb had done. But instead a smile broke out across her face and her eyes danced as she crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s about bloody time.” She said. “Your brother owes me thirty pounds.”


	4. Chapter Four

_Chapter Four_

_Jon_

Jon awoke very suddenly, his head pounding and nausea pulling at his stomach so sharply that he was sure he would vomit right then and there.

He was lying on his stomach and his face was pushed down on his pillow at a vastly uncomfortable angle, something heavy pinning the left side of his body to the bed. He felt his heart drop into his stomach, fear rippling through him at the prospect that it was Sansa’s body that pinned him down.

Jon fell back onto the bed, flickers of memory from the previous night coming back to him at once. He blamed Dany for this. She had been so pleased with the news of their betrothal that, after letting out a delighted shriek, she had disappeared behind the bar on the patio and reappeared a few minutes later with a tray of flaming shots.

Robb, who had already been drunk enough to loudly threaten Jon with a butter knife if he ever hurt Sansa, had accepted the shots gratefully. In retrospect Jon knew he should have stopped him, especially after seeing Robb trip and fall as he crossed to Dany to take his shot.

It was all a blur after that. The last thing he could remember was touching his glass to Sansa’s and watching her smile shyly at him, her cheeks glowing a ruddy pink from the heat of the whiskey.

Jon held his breath as he felt the person beside him shift in the bed. He tried to read the script of the alarm clock but could not, the contact lenses Jon had removed the previous night leaving his vision unfocused and blurry. He reached for his glasses on the night table pulled beside the bed and felt the cold metal against his fingers, the dark room finally coming into focus.

He turned over with a sigh, the pain in his head mounting to a sharp strike, and when he opened his eyes he came face to face with a Stark. But the not the one he had expected.

Robb was snoring loudly, his ragged breath smelling of pure liquor. He was fast asleep, one of his arms lay over his head, the other resting on Jon’s pillow and Jon found what had been pinning him down, Robb’s legs splayed out across the entirety of the bed.

“What are you doing in my bed?” Jon asked, his voice coming out surprisingly calm. Their faces were only a few inches apart, Jon’s leg reaching out to try and force Robb’s icy feet away from him.

Robb’s eyes flew open and he fell backwards, letting out a little scream as a spasm of pain surged through his head. “Bloody hell.” He muttered. “How much did I drink last night?”

Jon rubbed his eyes. “I lost count after the fifth shot and the _second_ time you tried to kiss me.” Robb was practically gray, his face tinged green with nausea and his eyes so bloodshot they shone red in the low light of the room.

“Go back to sleep, mate.” Jon said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing. Robb was only wearing one sock, his other foot bare and hanging over the side of the bed, riddled with gooseflesh. As soon as Jon got out of the bed he flipped over, rolling himself inside the blanket. “I’ll wake you in a bit.”

Jon rose and dressed, the dull throbbing of his head slowing his movements as he pulled a jumper over his head and changed his socks to a pair Arya had given him, the blue fabric dotted with a cartoonish snowflake design.

He opened the door, finding the scent of cooking bacon wafting over to him. His stomach grumbled loudly, the pain in his head temporarily subsiding as his interest was piqued.

He wandered into the kitchen, expecting to find Dany but instead coming across Sansa. She was humming under her breath; the spatula in her hand dipping down to stir whatever was in the pan. She jumped when a rasher of bacon spat and a spray of grease hit her bare arm.

She turned to look at him, her eyes taking in his bedraggled appearance as they swept over him. “You look great.” She said sarcastically, grinning and turning back to the pan.

“I feel great.” He replied, sinking into one of the chairs and laying his head on the counter, the cold tile seeming to help his headache.

There was a soft clatter as a mug was laid on the counter beside his head. “Coffee.” She said simply and he looked up to find she had already stirred in cream and sugar, as though expecting his arrival. Two white pills lay beside the mug. “And aspirin.”

“Bless you.”

She smiled softly. “Breakfast will be ready in a minute.” She said, pulling a plate from the cabinet. “How did you sleep?”

“With Robb apparently.” Jon muttered. Her eyebrows flew up. “Your brother spooned me.”

She laughed with her head thrown back and Jon decided it was almost worth being cuddled by his best friend to see the look on the eldest’s Stark girl’s face. “He does that when drunk.” She said. “On his eighteenth birthday he crawled into my parent’s bed and slept the night between them. It was quite funny.”

She spooned two eggs and a few bacon rashers onto his plate, the grease bleeding into a piece of buttered toast. It made him feel quite nauseated but he was already familiar enough with hangover cures to know he would feel better once he ate.

“Thank you.” He said, cutting his egg in two and watching the yellow yolk run across the plate. She smiled at him before turning back to her newspaper, hoping Jon would ignore the pink blush that rose in her cheeks.

It was quite domestic, he thought, watching her read the paper as he ate his breakfast, her hand sliding the sports section over to him without even having to ask.

“Did I embarrass myself terribly last night?” he asked, trying to make conversation.

Her eyes danced over the top of the newspaper. “Not…terribly.” She said. “You stood on the counter and sang Bohemian Rhapsody word for word for twenty-three minutes while using a box of pasta as a microphone.”

Jon opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by a knock on the front door. The food had made the pain in his head subside to a dull ache instead of a sharp throb and he was pleased to find that when he rose from his chair his nausea had escaped him.

Jon opened the door and met a face he was surprised and confused to see. “Tyrion?” he asked, looking down at his professor. “What are you-“

His hands were in his pockets and Jon could hear the jingle of change as he nervously twisted them. “Can I come in?” he asked, looking up and down the street.

Jon’s brows furrowed and he nodded, stepping aside to allow Tyrion to enter the house. Tyrion had been to the house before on the invitation of Aerys or Rhaegar and he turned instinctively towards the kitchen, following the sound of the now whistling kettle that Sansa had put on to boil.

Sansa looked between them as they stood in the doorway, her brow furrowed in confusion, and her eyes found Jon. He gave her a shrug, shaking his head to show he was as confused as he was.

“Good.” Said Tyrion, looking at Sansa. “I’m glad you are here. Good morning, Miss Stark, you look well today.” He turned back to Jon, smirking. “Cannot say the same for you, Targaryen. You look bloody awful.”

“He and Robb drank a cask of Dornish whiskey last night.” Sansa said. “Would you like a cup of tea?”

“Gods.” Said Tyrion. He did not take off his coat nor scarf and did not take a seat, making Jon all the more confused by his visit. “Love the stuff but it causes one hell of a hangover. And no thank you dear, I won’t be long.”

He was speaking very quickly, as usual, but the way his eyes kept looking back and forth between his watch made Sansa nervous. “Professor-“

He held up a hand to stop her. “Just Tyrion please. We’re not on campus. Now I’ve got to say something.”

Sansa nodded, moving to stand on the other side of the counter, her brewing tea forgotten. “You sound serious.”

“I am.” Tyrion said. “I ran into your father last night. He told me of your decision.” Sansa and Jon looked at each other, both knowing this visit was not to wish them luck and happiness. “Listen to me.” Tyrion said, his face darkening. “This is not a game...well that’s not true actually. I suppose it _is_ a game.”

“What are you talking about?” Jon said. He was growing more and more nervous the more he spoke and the more his hands twisted and rang.

“Joffrey wants you.” Tyrion said, looking up at Sansa. The very mention of his name had made her face go pallid, her hands tightening around her teacup enough to make her fingers blanche white. “This whole thing. This whole fiasco of a law is about you, Sansa. Didn’t you think it was a bit fortuitous that it was brought back into law just before your twentieth birthday.”

Jon looked at her. She had taken a step backward, watching Tyrion with a look of horror on her face. “I knew it.” she whispered. Her eyes were misty. “I knew it wouldn’t be so easy to leave him.”

“You have two weeks to choose a husband, that you know. But there is a stipulation in the law-“

“The consummation, I know.” Sansa said, refusing to meet Jon’s gaze.

“No. Well yes. But not the stipulation I was talking about.” Tyrion continued, too serious to draw a bit of pleasure in the awkwardness between Jon and Sansa that was almost palpable. “If your marriage is deemed false, the King has the power to choose a new husband for you.”

Sansa looked like she was going to faint and Jon guided her arm to a chair, holding her steady as her legs threatened to give out beneath her. “Deemed false?” she breathed. “How exactly does one deem a marriage false?”

“People will be watching you. Both of you. Wherever you go. Classes, work, outside of the university.”

“So what?” Sansa demanded. “What happens if…”

“The king will choose Joffrey as your husband and under law there is nothing you can do about it.”

“I would rather die.” Sansa spat, the fervor returning to her eyes at once. She slammed her first down upon the counter so hard that she flinched in pain but remained no less impassioned. “I won’t do it again.” she seethed. “By the Seven I won’t. I will die first.”

Tyrion gave her a slight smile. “Then you must convince them.”

“How?” Jon said. His headache was returning with a vengeance.

“Act like you’re really in love, not just married because you have to be.” Said Tyrion. “Take a cue from your friend. The lovely little Tyrell girl. You think she’s happy to marry the King’s brother instead of her lover? Of course not. Yet you would never know from looking at her.”

“This is a bloody nightmare.” Sansa muttered. Jon felt her words pierce him like a blade but made no show of it. “We just have to pretend? For the rest of our lives? And hope nobody comes knocking at our door to marry me off to Joffrey.”

“I did not say it was right. Nor fair, nor just. Not a fate worthy of either of you.” Said Tyrion. “But it is the way it is.”

He left them with those words, leaving Jon and Sansa engulfed in utter silence, her eyes downcast and far away. “I’m sorry, Sans.” Jon spoke first, breaking the silence between them and making her jump. “I’m so sorry.”

She didn’t say anything, her hands curled around the teacup and feeling its burning warmth. Another few minutes of terse silence passed between them and Jon stood from his chair, planning to leave her to her peace but her voice stopped him. “I’m the one who should be apologizing.” She whispered, turning at the waist to look at him. “I’m ruining your life, Jon. I wouldn’t blame you if you changed your mind about this.”

Jon felt himself smile. “Change my mind?” he asked, dropping his hand to her shoulder. “And leave you to whether this storm alone? Never.” She gave him a weak smile, hastily wiping the tear from her cheek. “Plus, I’ll remind you.” Jon continued, squeezing her shoulder gently. “I got very high marks in my acting class last year.”

Sansa laughed again, the tears now springing from her eyes ones of pleasure instead of pain. She squeezed his hand in return, feeling the warmth of his bare skin, and smiled wider. “There was never a greater Macbeth than you.” She said. “Even when you tripped on your robes and almost fell off stage.”

“And now you shall be my Lady Macbeth.” He promised. “And if you fall off the stage, I’ll catch you.”

“And I’ll catch you.” Sansa returned, looking up at him. “Maybe we can even plan a few murders.”

“Only one murder, perhaps.” Jon assured with a wink. “A certain blonde royal shit. But only if he crosses us.”


	5. Chapter Five

_Chapter Five_

_Sansa_

The Targaryen’s had always held a library larger than any civilian in the city. Sansa had always been in marvel of it, passing the open door at a slow pace, craning her neck so she could try and read the titles of the many coloured book spines. And they were so completely organized, the shelves crawling high over her head and widely on either side of her, a wooden ladder swiveling around a metal bar at the top so the highest books could be reached.

It was calming, a small speaker in the corner allowing classical music to drift across the room. And now Sansa stood engrossed in the library, having collapsed into a leather armchair with a stack of books on the table beside her, trying to delve deeper into the ancient marriage laws. She knew that if the Lannister’s had already tried so hard to trick her into failing their authenticity tests that there would be more hurdles for her to jump.

She hummed along with the music, flipping through the pages of a leather backed book so old it was a wonder the pages did not crumble to dust in her hands.

Sansa jumped when there was a voice beside her. “Miss Stark.” Said Rhaegar Targaryen. Sansa had not heard him enter, his movements smooth and stealthy as a cat.

A flush unconsciously filled her cheeks at the sight of him. She could not help but think, even though he was the father of her soon to be husband, that he was beautiful, all silver haired and light and crystal-like eyes and pearly white teeth. “M-Mr. Targaryen.” She knew he had asked her a thousand times to call her by his first name but somehow it felt too familiar, too intimate for her to do so.

“I heard about the situation.” He cooed, voice soft as velvet. He had sunk down to sit on the arm of her chair and his thigh pressed warmly against her arm.

She felt suddenly shocked by the thought that drifted into her mind. _What if it was Rhaegar I had to marry?_ She felt intruded by the thought. Jon was one of her closest and easiest friends. He was handsome and smart and he could take apart anything and put it back together until it worked even better than before.

Sansa had continued to list Jon’s strengths in her head until she realized that Rhaegar was speaking to her. Her blush deepened then, trying to piece together what he said without having heard the first bit of the sentence. “-and I are working very hard to remedy this. But in the meantime let me know if there is anything I can do for you, Miss Stark.”

Rhaegar Targaryen smiled pleasantly and beautifully and for the first time Sansa realized that Jon and his father shared the same lovely smile. Thought Rhaegar showed it more, it made it no less special for Jon. In fact it was the opposite for when Jon did smile at her she felt like she was receiving some sort of reward for her work.

“Thank you, sir.” She said quickly. His eyes had turned to look at the book in her lap and she continued, “I hope you don’t mind. I just thought I would have a bit of research.”

He waved her away. “Of course, love. These books are going to be yours as well soon. And even if you were not a Targaryen in name you are one in spirit.” He smiled. “You are welcome to everything in this house.”

She smiled shyly and did not reply, having lost all the words in her vocabulary upon hearing him address her so. Rhaegar quit the room after that and Sansa heard him speaking to someone in the hall and a moment later Jon entered the library.

Her flush deepened, embarrassed as thought he was able to read her mind but Jon did not seem to notice or pretended not to so as not to embarrass her. He took the seat opposite her, meeting her eye with a smile. “How is it going?” he asked, his eyes sweeping across the stack of books almost as tall as her that rested beside the armchair.

“Good.” She said. “I found a few things. Nothing solid. Not yet I mean.”

“Would you like me to help you look?” he asked.

Sansa nodded. Jon and Rhaegar were so different it was hard to believe they were father and son, but both made her equally nervous, though in different ways. With Rhaegar she could barely form a cogent sentence, sure that he must think her to be dumb, and her stomach clenched so tightly she thought she might be sick. But with Jon she felt a dull, mellow sort of nervousness, the sensation abating and returning whenever his eyes met hers or his smile appeared.

She did not feel the need to impress him as she did with Rhaegar. She was more of herself with Jon, knowing that she could show him her bookworm side, the part of her that would rather read and have a cup and talk about what she had read than go out, as Joffrey so often made her.

“It says here that by the fifteenth nameday a girl was officially prepared for marriage by her family and a spouse is chosen and groomed.” Sansa said. “Fifteen. Can you imagine? It’s like Bran getting married.”

“Or Aegon.” Jon said with a scoff. “I think those two would run away before letting themselves be married off.”

Sansa grinned as thought that was not exactly what was happening between them. “Most women of noble familiar were married before the age of sixteen. Seventeen at most. But if one reached eighteen and was unmarried they would most likely spend the rest of their lives so.”

“You poor old spinster.” Jon teased.

“Destined to live my life alone!” Sansa announced, dramatically throwing her head back. Jon laughed and the sound made her heart swell happily into her throat.

“Oh!” Jon stood suddenly, making Sansa jump. “I made us some tea. I guess I forgot it in the kitchen.”

He brought the service into the room and laid it on the table Sansa had cleared, looking annoyed. “Well I brought cakes too but…” he trailed off, Sansa’s eyes finding several bites taken out of an assortment of biscuits and sandwiches.

“Looks like Robb got here first.”

Jon nodded. “Dany actually. Found her sleeping on the floor in the kitchen, hugging a bag of flour.” He mused. “It’s been a while since any of us have drank that much.”

Sansa nodded. “I think the last time was Theon’s Halloween party.”

Jon laughed again. “That was a good night. Nothing like being dressed like a giant baby to make you take twenty shots.”

Her mind was filled with the image of Theon in a huge diaper, in the midst of autumn, drinking unfiltered vodka from a baby bottle. Next came an image of Jon dressed like a lumberjack, cute enough to give half of the girls in the house whiplash when he entered the house. “And you were that girl.” Jon said, trying to remember the name. “From Dirty Dancing. The one who carried a watermelon.”

Sansa’s grin widened, satisfied with the new knowledge that Jon had watched Dirty Dancing. “Baby.” She said.

“Yes. Baby.” The way he said the word made a little thrill run through her, even though she was not foolish enough to know it was not a pet name.

“Do you think he’s going to have another party for Christmas?”

He nodded, certain. “He will use any holiday as an excuse for a party. I’m sure the idea of mistletoe is too alluring to resist.”

A thought filtered through her mind, realizing that by the time Christmas rolled around they would be married. From the look on Jon’s face he seemed to have realized it too, a silence falling over them unevenly.

Sansa decided to break the silence, boldly speaking the words that had haunted her for the past two days. “What are we going to do when we return to school?” she said. “We’re going to be….”

_Married by then_. She hadn’t bothered saying the words but they were understood nonetheless, the ease that had encompassed them dissipating all at once. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers drumming against the side of his teacup.

“Are you still living in the residence hall?” he asked and when she nodded, he continued. “Well if we’re supposed to act like we’re truly married I suppose we should…live together.”

The words hung heavily in the air, not even the slow bit of piano that drifted to her ears from the speaker enough to relax her. “Yes.” She said. She had already been thinking of it but had been too nervous to say it aloud, even to her brother. Not that she had had the chance, with him too drunk to walk and all. “The dorm is too small for both of us so should we…” she paused. “Get another place?”

Jon felt as thought he was simultaneously being doused with hot and cold water and though he tried his very best to remain without expression he was sure his face betrayed some of his nervousness. “You could move in with me if you wanted.” He said. “The flat is big enough to share. There is a guest bedroom but we would have to share a bathroom.”

Sansa put her hand over her mouth to stifle a laugh. “I’m sorry.” She said, unable to stop the fit of giggles. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just so…ridiculous. Think of what you were doing a week ago. Can you imagine if someone had told us that this is where we would be?”

He had broken off into his own laughter then. “No.” he said. “I really, really wouldn’t have believed it.”

She did not dare speak about the consummation rule but she was sure the redness in her face betrayed her thoughts. She was thankful that he did not mention it either but she knew Jon would not do anything to embarrass her.

“Thank you, Jon.” she said, for what felt like the thousandth time. She stood up from the armchair and moved back towards the towering shelves, gently nudging the ladder out of the way so she could read the title of a large blue book. “I’m just…I feel like I’m such a burden on you. Now I’m moving into your flat and taking up your space and eating your food. It’s a nightmare.”

“I’ve had far worse nightmares I assure you.” Jon replied, setting down the book in his lap and uncrossing his legs. “It’s not a burden, Sans. You are my friend and I would do anything for you. If you told me to jump out of an aeroplane I think I would do it.”

She passed a book titled, _Dragon Lore in Ancient Essos_ and another of the same title but a separate volume beside it. She let out a sigh, her hair falling into her face and her eyes downcast, looking the very picture of fragility. “I’m scared, Jon. I don’t…I won’t go back to Joffrey.”

She heard something shift behind her and knew Jon had replaced his teacup on the service. Suddenly she felt his arms surround around her from behind, both arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her body flush against his.

She felt the breath go out of her in a rush, his grip tight but instead of forceful the tightness was only comforting. One of his arms slipped from around her waist to cross her chest, his palm cupping her shoulder. But even then it did not feel lascivious or crude, only reassuring, and she turned her head to lean her cheek against the backs of his fingers.

Against her back Sansa found feel the inhale and exhale of breath passing through him, his heart beat a faint drum against her shoulder blade. She knew that she could turn in his arms and find herself face to face with him, his lips coming onto level with her nose. She could kiss him if she wanted. She could feel the stubble of his chin against hers, the way his unshaven cheeks would scrape at her and his tongue would brush against her bottom lip.

But Jon had just been comforting her, she knew. It would ruin any headway they had made in attaining mutual friendship and comfort between them. She knew he did not mean to show any romantic feelings towards her. It would be pretty to think so. But foolish.


	6. Chapter Six

_Chapter Six_

_Sansa_

Sansa had planned on returning home that afternoon, after she had scoured every inch of the Targaryen library and read every word she could find on the ancient laws. But just as she had been gathering her things and changing out of the pyjamas Dany had let her borrow she had received a call from her mother, tying her very hardest to act nonchalant while asking Sansa and Robb to remain at the Targaryen house until evening.

Hanging up with her mother Sansa watched as her brother furrowed his brow, rolling his eyes lightly. “She sounded suspicious.” He said. “She must be throwing you a surprise party.”

“She didn’t tell you?” Sansa asked.

“No.” he replied, shaking his head. Then again she was not very surprised. Robb was perhaps the worst secret keeper that ever lived. And even if he managed to keep his secrets during the day, he whispered them in his sleep. That was how Arya found out that Gendry was going to ask her out to dinner when they had first met.

She gave a halfhearted shrug. The events of the last few days had wiped the thoughts of her birthday from her mind. “I just thought mum would cook dinner or something. I heard her on the phone the other day inviting some people over…”

Robb gave her a look that told her how stupid she had been. Their mother had always been vastly excited by birthdays, going above and beyond with the celebrations, starting from when they were children to even after Robb and Sansa had gone off to college. And there were often themes. Hugely elaborate themes of grandeur. Costume parties or masked balls or holiday themes.

Half of her was exhausted by the idea while the other half was excited by the prospect of having something to distract herself with. She only hopes the King would not make a surprise appearance, as he sometimes did, drunk and bawdy and pawing at every woman who was too afraid of his wrath to tell him to bugger off.

Sansa thought back to what Tyrion had said. _You have to make them believe you._ If her mother had planned a party it would be their first chance to act like they were truly in love. _Everyone will be watching._ Especially if Robert was there.

Rationally she knew the King was not an evil man. But he was not a good father. Most likely Joffrey had acted like an injured bird when Sansa had broken up with him and with his mother doting on him at every step she must have guilted Robert into something. Sansa was sure he was just ignorant to the treatment Joffrey had given her. Surely he could not know and still be so blind as to pull these laws back into play.

Dany’s hangover had faded after Sansa had stuffed some pancakes down her throat and made her drink a full cup of tea but she was no less sensitive to light or sound so as they watched a movie in the living room all the shades had been drawn and the volume of the telly had been dropped to three.

Sitting on the sofa opposite her best friend Sansa could still feel the imprint of Jon’s body on hers. She had been shocked how it had all felt so natural. So familiar.

Robb laid beside her, squinting at the telly and turning the volume down even more so as not to ignite his splitting headache once more. Sansa curled her arms around herself, knowing that she smelled of Jon. She had realized that hours ago but had purposefully not changed, the scent of his deep cologne on her borrowed clothes almost relaxing.

His body had fit so perfectly against hers, the rough edges of his muscular body seeming to fit just so against the soft slopes of hers, his arms pulling her tight and secure. The cheek that rested against his hand, the soft shampoo that filled his nose as his face nuzzled into the back of her neck, the corner of his mouth brushing once against the back of his neck. It that moment nothing could have touched them. Not marriage laws, not Lannister’s, not drunken singing, not library books.

And in that moment Sansa had realized that she was not the only one who was seeking comfort. The tightness of his arms, the deep, troubled sigh that escaped him, the way she felt him nuzzle into her. He was scared too. Of everything he had said or done that was the one thing that made her think they could actually make it through this.

Jon entered the room and dropped onto the couch beside Dany, laughing as her bare feet pressed against his, the icy cold making him jump. “Just got a call from your mum.” He told Sansa, his eyes full of mirth. “I hope you’re ready to party.”

Sansa and Robb let out a collective moan. “What is it this year?” her brother asked. “A Meereenese themed party where Sansa is carried into the house on a chariot? A Dornish theme? Oberyn would be so pleased.”

“He would be.” Dany agreed lazily, her foot swooping passed Jon’s face and annoying him into swatting at her. “I’m sure he’d be willing to carry Sansa in on a chariot.”

Sansa flushed and Jon met her eye with a grin. “Not this year.” He said. “She told me it was a simple Christmas party that also happened to celebrate Sansa’s birthday.”

The Stark’s scoffed again. “My mother has never had a simple party in her life.” said Sansa. Once again she was filled with indifference and excitement in the same moment. She snuck a look at Jon and blushed when she found he was already looking at her.

“Are you going to wear matching outfits?” Dany asked. Sansa raised her eyebrows, unsure. “To celebrate your engagement of course. I know it’s not really real but you might as well lean in to it. Plus it would be really funny to see my Jonny dressed as Santa.”

“I am _not_ dressing as Santa.” Said Jon. “Not even for Sansa.”

“Well maybe it should be you than Sans.” Robb said. “I mean you and Santa only have one letter difference in your name.”

“Nobody is dressing up as Santa.” insisted Sansa and the ridiculousness of the conversation made her laugh until her sides ached and she thought she might vomit.

“Maybe you should. Red looks nice on you.” Jon mused, seeming to speak before he could stop himself. Three heads snapped towards him, Dany’s silver eyebrows rising so high that they seemed to disappear into the bangs of her hair. Robb choked on the water he had just taken a long sip of and Sansa flushed brightly enough to be red all over.

Jon looked mortified, turning quickly to the remote and turning the volume up so high that Dany and Robb let out a shriek, the thoughts of what he had said suddenly erased from their aching heads.

A few minutes of idle conversation later Dany rose to shower and dress and most of all- brush her teeth, the smell of liquor filling Sansa’s nose when the girl leaned over the speak to her.

Sansa poured herself a cup of water, meandering around the house without purpose, watching Dany disappeared around the corner and Robb fall asleep on the couch, his empty stomach rumbling. “I’ll take you.” Jon said. “Robb doesn’t look fit to drive right now.”

Sansa agreed, turning back to the view of the backyard, the trees bare of leaves and whipping back and forth in the wind. “Just give me a bit to get dressed.” He continued.

“Don’t forget your Santa suit!” Sansa called, teasingly, listening to Jon mutter under his breath in response.

It took them over an hour to get showered and ready, Dany trying on several different outfits before deciding on something silver and sequined and very much resembling a snowflake. Jon took a bit longer, the door of his bedroom locked when Sansa knocked on it. “Jon?” she called, unsure if her voice could be heard through the heavy door.

The bolt slid and he opened the door. He was bare to the waist, the top button of his pants undone and his feet were bare, red socks decorated with reindeer. He jumped for a shirt, apologizing profusely.

“I’m sorry!” Sansa said at the same time he did, turning her back towards him. She tried very, very hard not to focus on the fact that Jon’s skin was shining with water that had not yet dried from his shower, the shine only deepening the ridges of muscle that danced down his stomach and chest, his nipples hard from the cold breeze of the house. “I didn’t mean to-“

“-I thought you were Robb.” He professed. She peeked over her shoulder, finding him struggling to pull a jumper over his head, accidently putting his head through the sleeve.

She walked forward, making him jump when her cold hands made contact with his bare skin. “Let me help you.” She said, calming his struggling hands. “You’ve got your head in the-” she tried to tug the jumper over his head but came up short. Jon stood a head taller than she and even as she lifted her arms over his head she could not fully remove the jumper.

Her chest was pressed to his, her shirt damp with the dew of his wet skin. Her eyes looked up to meet his before falling briefly to his lips, the desire to kiss them swelling like the climax of an orchestra’s song.

Jon dipped his head to meet hers, his lips parting. A hand had dropped to her lower back, urging her gently forward, the heat of his palm like fire against her skin. One of his fingers had curved through the belt loop on her jeans. The smell of his cologne had returned, her cheek pressing against his and feeling the stubble that he had not shaved.

Sansa took a sudden step backwards and a flash of hurt crossed his face until he hear the footsteps Sansa had and realized they would soon be interrupted by a third person. Robb pushed open the door and looked between them, Sansa thankful she had stepped away and turned around, faking interest in one of the videos that Jon had beside his television set.

“Mum just rang.” He said dubiously. “She asked if we could come home now.”

“I’ll be ready in a moment.” Jon assured, pulling on his jumper with ease now. The fabric unfurled to reveal it was one his mother had bought for him the previous year, the red and green fabric decorated with the face of a reindeer, it’s red nose lighting up whenever he moved.

Sansa grinned from ear to ear, admiring the jumper with surprising authenticity. His mother had given her one just like it the previous year, though hers bore a snowman wearing a white and blue crossed scarf.

Jon drove and as Robb and Dany fought over who would sit in the passenger seat Sansa slipped into the back, able to feel the warmth of Jon’s gaze as he watched her though the mirror. Again she wondered what would have happened if she had kissed him, her lips aching for his touch.

“What do you think she’s going to do?” Robb wondered a loud. “I don’t think I would be surprised if she decorated the whole house to resemble a gingerbread house.”

The rest of the drive was taken up with speculation of what they thought Catelyn Stark had planned for the party and if there even was a party or if they had read too much into her cryptic call but when they arrived at the house all their questions were answered.

The house was bustling with activity, men and women Sansa did not know coming in and out through the open front door, trudging through the snow to bring in trays of sandwiches and appetizers, carts of wine bottles, bushels of flowers, decorations that came and went too quickly for Sansa to identify them. The front door was framed with red streamers and a wreath hung on a hook in the center of the door.

“Well then.” Robb said, turning around in his seat to grin at his sister. “Are you ready to party?”


	7. Chapter Seven

_Chapter Seven_

_Sansa_

The inside of the house resembled the inside of their attic, so filled with decorations that Sansa did not recognize a single inch of the house as her own. Mistletoe hung from the ceiling every few feet, along with red ceramic balls and fresh holly berries. There was suddenly a Christmas tree off to the side of the living room, decorated with the ornaments the Stark children made in primary school or the ones her mother had bought for their beauty.

There were already half a hundred people in the house and Sansa blushed, suddenly very aware of the fact that she was wearing pyjamas. She ran up the stairs to her room and jumped into the shower, hoping her nervousness and embarrassment would be washed down the drain like the soap that dripped down her skin.

Her mind wandered back to Jon, as if so often had the last few days. They were going to be married within the next fortnight. They were going to be husband and wife. They were going to live in the same flat and attend the same classes and share the same bed three times a month.

Sansa dropped the shampoo bottle she had been holding, the crash echoing loudly against the claw-footed tub. She had almost forgotten about the consummation rule. Perhaps it had been so shocking that her mind had purposefully blocked it out.

She had seen Jon without his jumper. She had seen the clench of muscle when her cold hands had touched him and the way a vein in his neck throbbed when he was struggling with the jumper. She had wanted to touch him, to run her fingers through the dark on his chest and kiss his lips and the thought made her uncomfortable and anxious, her stomach clenching tightly.

She turned off the faucet and stepped out of the tub, determined to ignore all thoughts of consummating her marriage with Jon.

Sansa looked through her closet for something appropriate for a Christmas/birthday party and came up with a wine coloured dress, loose enough to be apt for a party thrown by her parents but still pretty. The heater was on so she need not worry that her legs were uncovered and she pulled on a pair of simple high heels and a necklace, the jewel settling lightly in the cavity between her breasts.

By the time she got back downstairs the number of guests seemed to have doubled and she had just about reached the bottom step when she saw a face she hoped she would not have to see in her house ever again.

Joffrey Baratheon had not yet seen her, standing beside his father, who was laughing at something a brown haired woman in a blue dress whispered in his ear.

She slipped down the stairs, her eyes searching for her parents or her sister or her friends. She spotted Jon and Arya standing before a table that was lined with small teacakes and other desserts and she walked swiftly towards them, Tyrion’s words echoing in her head. _Make them believe you_.

Jon looked up at her as she approached them, the click of her heels barely audible against the hardwood floors. He was looking at her dress but as she walked closer his gaze shifted away, taking in the expression on her face. “Sansa what is it?” he asked. Even Arya looked concerned, holding up a finger to stop Gendry from continuing whatever he was saying.

“The King is here.” She whispered. “With his family.”

Seeming to understand immediately Jon reached out and took her hand, his long fingers entwining with hers. She gave a soft smile, trying very hard to be reassured by the action but knowing that it was all for show. Tyrion had told them to make the King believe it and so they would.

His fingers were callused and warm, his thumb tracing the outside of her thumb down to her wrist, and with the heels she wore they stood head to head, their eyes locked in silent communication. Arya did not question the action, although her raised eyebrows and curious eyes showed that she was silently making a note to ask about it later.

Gendry spoke first, his voice fierce. “I can’t believe that little shite is here.” Said he. “In your home.”

“And I can’t believe the king would bring him.” Arya continued, taking a long pull from the beer Gendry quietly offered, looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody was looking. “It’s one thing for dad to invite him but it’s a whole ‘nother thing for him to bring Joff.” Sansa gave a silent nod of agreement.

Jon turned to look over his shoulder, his eyes narrowing. It seemed the news of their engagement had spread far and wide for every eye in the room seemed to be trained on them, whispers audible behind hands and eyes dragging down their bodies to see their clasped hands. He lifted his arm to wrap it around her shoulders, pulling her close, and a thrill ran through the crowd.

Sansa looked up at him, her eyes wide as he kissed her brow. It was all for show, she reminded herself. People are watching us. In response to his showy kiss she gave him a wide smile, her fingers brushing across his cheek. He looked down at her and his eyes sparkled and for a moment she almost thought it was real.

She could practically feel the scrutiny that was placed upon her, hating that she could feel their eyes wherever she went. She hated that they were the same eyes that had turned away when she needed their intervention with Joff.

And then she saw it happening. The thing she had been dreading since descending the stairs, since Tyrion came to the house, since she had heard her mother was planning the party.

The King walked forward, parting the crowd with his massive body and massive title, making a beeline right for her. On her other side Gendry bristled, his hand tightening around the bottle in his hand, only slightly relaxing when Arya slipped her hand into his. Sansa could have almost smiled, if the circumstances had been different. Seeing her sister so in love with such a good man made her heart swell. But right now the look on Robert’s face made her heart sink into her stomach.

“My lady!” King Robert cried, now standing just in front of her. His loud voice echoed across the room and all conversations seemed to come to a sudden halt. “You look lovely tonight, as usual. Come here my dear, give your father’s oldest friend a kiss!”

It was not a question but a demand and Sansa was forced to leave the safety of her little group, dropping Jon’s hand and stepping forward. She was instantly enveloped by Robert’s huge, ungainly arms and smothered against his chest, held her tightly enough to bend her spine.

But Sansa smiled. It was the same brilliant, false smile she had perfected when dating Joffrey. There looked to be no falseness to it, she knew that for certain after having practiced it before the mirror in her bedroom half a hundred times. The King looked appeased by it, bending his head so that Sansa could press her lips to his rough cheek like he was the winner of a game and she was the prize.

A roar of pleasure rippled through the crowd at the sight and before the King could ask for another she stepped away, returning to the cocoon that Arya, Gendry, and Jon had made.

The King turned to Jon and her heart sank even lower, the knots in her stomach tightening all the more, this encounter making her feel like she was developing an ulcer. “My boy, how do you do?” he asked, clapping Jon on the back.

Sansa looked up, finding the look in Jon’s eyes far from pleased. But true to his word Jon was a rather good actor, shifting immediately from displeasure to joviality and sinking into the role of soon to be husband.

Jon reached out a hand to shake the King’s and his smile holding the same level of brilliance as hers, all teeth and lip and glamour. “Good to see you, your grace.” He replied.

Robert grinned widely. Sansa wished her parents would come over and diffuse the situation. “Ah and you Mr. Targaryen! How is your father?”

“Good, good. He should be in attendance later.” Jon continued, not knowing whether or not his father would be joining the festivities. “He wished me to bid you a happy Christmas if he does not see you before then.”

“And him too!” said Robert. Just then his wife appeared by his side, her cruel eyes watching them with hawk like precision. “My darling I believe you have met our newest couple.” Said Robert, sweeping Cersei Lannister in for a kiss, the woman looking as uncomfortable as Sansa had.

“Yes.” Said Cersei, her voice slow and calculating. She seemed to be weighing their movements, her eyes falling to their clasped hands before rising to their smiles, eyes narrowing to slits. “I have heard. How lovely.” She drawled, looking lachrymose.

She held his hand more tightly, so tight she was afraid he might pull away, his jaw clenching from the pain of her grip but he did not, enduring the pain and the discomfort of the situation without his smile faltering. “Congratulations to the _new_ couple.” Cersei said, her emphasis on the word making chills run down Sansa’s spine.

Sansa looked at Jon, her eyes pleading but it was Arya that came to her aid almost immediately. “Not so new actually.” She said, her laugh one only Sansa recognized as forced. “They’ve been dating for a while now but Sansa didn’t want anyone to know.”

“Ah yes.” Said Robert, his ruddy cheeks aglow with drink. The glass of gin in his hand swayed so much a bit swinging over the side of the glass and landed on the floor beneath him. “The excitement of new love. Didn’t want anyone intruding on you, ey?”

“No.” said Sansa, recognizing the irony. “We didn’t want any intrusions.”

“The law is actually quite good.” continued Arya. “We’ve been trying to get them together for ages, the stubborn bastards. So all in all it’s good. Not at all a violation of our human rights.” She muttered the last bit under her breath and Gendry cleared his throat loudly, drowning out her voice.

But Cersei had no interest in their words, her eyes trained on Sansa as though she expected her to crumble under her firm glance. She swirled the wine around in her glass, her lips pursing beneath her upturned nose. She was watching, waiting for them to slip up, waiting for one of them to say something incriminating.

But Sansa was stronger now, older and wiser, and without the baggage that Joffrey had left her with. And she was more beautiful than Cersei Lannister and both women knew it, the Queen’s eyes narrowing into slit as she looked at Sansa’s thin waist, her long legs, her smooth skin, fresh from the shower and shining with sweet perfume.

Sansa had once been so scared of the woman but now she felt nothing, watching Cersei’s mouth pinch tighter and tighter the more they spoke, the more Sansa held Jon’s hand or laid her head to rest against his shoulder.

After what felt like an eternity the King spotted someone else he wished to speak with and bid them goodbye, taking his exit with Cersei in tow. And even when Cersei shot them a look over her shoulder Sansa did not feel intimidated.

“Do you think he bought it?” Jon whispered. He bent his head low to whisper, his lips brushing gently against the shell of her ear. She shivered visibly, Arya raising her eyebrows and smirking before whispering something to Gendry and moving towards the bar.

Sansa nodded and looked up at him, the false smile having faded into one she knew to be real. Her arms slipped around him, her hands holding the backs of his shoulders and pulling him against her body. “Thank you.” She whispered, feeling his hands make their way around her body. His chin rested against her head, his fingers tracing her back in soothing shapes. “Thank you.”

The party continued without a hitch, the drinks that filtered around the room bringing merriment with them and soon there was music and dancing as well.

“Would you like to dance?” Jon asked. He was sitting in one of the chairs that lined the wall with Sansa standing beside him, her hip at his eyelevel, a sight he did not dislike. On the other side of the room Robb and Dany were arm in arm, grinning and spinning each other across the dance floor, moving beside Gendry and Arya, who danced slowly despite the upbeat tempo of the music.

Sansa looked taken aback by the question, nodding her head. He had offered his hand and Sansa accepted it, allowing him to pull her into the crowd that had grown on the dance floor.

Sansa had never been a good dancer and had hoped to disappear in the sea of people but found instead she was a one half of a starring duo. Jon moved easily along with the tempo, guiding her with one hand in hers and the other hand on her hip, urging her kindly forward and backward as he moved.

She had flushed, the warmth of his hand spreading across her body like she was on fire, her flush deepening when she felt that heat go lower. His palm seemed to mold perfectly against the bone of her hip and when he spun her she found herself pressed to his front, his arm curving around her waist and pulling her tight.

It was almost like they were the only ones in the room and it felt that way, even though every eye in the room was on them. She moved when he moved, dipped when he dipped her, relished in the way his hips felt against hers.

 _It’s a show_ , she reminded herself, trying to keep herself from falling too deeply into the fantasy. _It’s all just an act to appease the crowd_. Jon didn’t like her. He dated women like Melisandre who were strong and sexy and mysterious. Not Sansa. She was too young for him. He was her brother’s best friend. He was marrying her out of politeness not interest in her.

When the song ended Sansa found they had somehow ended up beside Robb and Dany, who were eyeing each other rather intensely, Dany whispering something that made Robb grin from ear to ear.

“We’re standing under mistletoe.” Jon whispered. He had not yet let her go and she ran her hands down his arms, feeling the muscle and sinew beneath.

“Are we?” she breathed, looking up to find the little bunch of green leaves wrapped with a red ribbon and tied to the ceiling.

His eyes were so deep she could lose herself in them. “People are watching.” He whispered. He was breathing heavily, Sansa waving it off as exertion from the dance they had just finished. She snuck a sideways look. Cersei Lannister stood beside her son, both looking at them as closely as though they were expecting something. Beside them Tyrion gave them a pointed glance, jerking his head at his sister and nephew.

“Okay.” Sansa whispered. She wanted to kiss him. Very, very much wanted to kiss him. But not like this, not in front of a hundred prying eyes. She wanted to kiss him not because she had to but because she wanted to.

She had never been so glad as when her mother called for attention, the throb of music subsiding quickly. Sansa stepped away from Jon quickly, turning her back to his so he couldn’t see the tears that had welled in her eyes.

Catelyn Stark spoke, her voice loud enough to penetrate the low hum of voices that occupied the room. “I’m so glad that everyone here could make it tonight to celebrate the birth of my lovely daughter, Sansa. Sansa, honey, where are you?”

Robb raised his hand to show she was beside him and urged Sansa gently forward, her body moving through the crowd hesitantly, crashing into elbows and shoulders when they did not move from before her. Coming to a halt beside her mother she feigned another smile, counting down the minutes before she could return to her bed.

“Happy birthday, Sansa.” Said her mother, hugging her tightly.

Her father had come forward with a small gift box tied with a crimson bow, grinning down at his daughter as he dropped the box into her arms. People in the crowd were craning their necks to try and see what was in the box. It all felt very intrusive.

She opened the box quickly, the red ribbon slipping to the ground before she could catch it, and found the prettiest necklace she had ever seen on the inside. She looked up at her father, grinning. “It’s lovely.” She held up her hair while he put it on for her, fitting the end of the necklace into the clasp and letting it hang down. She could feel its weight on her chest, the jewels glittering in the light.

Her father hugged her, letting her dig her face into his chest as she had always did when she was a child. “Consider it a birthday and an engagement present.” He whispered, kissing the top of her head. “Since we could not have an engagement party under such…constrained circumstances. We want you to be happy Sansa. We think...we think this will all work out in the end." her father smiled and suddenly Sansa found herself smiling back.


	8. Chapter Eight

_Chapter Eight_

_Jon_

After her parents had presented their daughter with the gift they had agonized over for the last month Sansa had looked so completely happy that Jon had been surprised not to find her moving about in the crowd. He and Robb meandered casually through the rooms of the house, trying not to let the intrusive thoughts of Joffrey having cornered her somewhere overcome them. He thought himself foolish to be nervous but knowing that Joffrey and Cersei and the King were in the house only made him uneasy, Robb’s face not having recovered its colour since watching the encounter between Jon and Sansa and the Queen.

They passed through the kitchen and Robb let out a sigh of relief, pointing through the twin glass doors that sectioned off the kitchen from the lower balcony. He saw a flash of red as she swung backward and forward, occupying the simple porch swing her father had installed years ago. Robb nodded in silent agreement, urging him forth.

Sansa looked around quickly as the door creaked when Jon opened it, her eyes as wide as though she expected to see someone she did not want to, but she relaxed back against the swing when she saw it was Jon. He made to sit opposite her but she scooted over on the swing, clearing a space for him without word.

“I’m sorry.” He professed, offering her the beer. She had a small blanket draped across her legs and when Jon sat down she stretched it to encompass him as well, the backyard cold enough to make their breath mist in the air above them. He continued, “Sans, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable earlier. I just thought with everyone watching it would have been good to seem so much like a couple.”

“You don’t have to apologize.” She said, taking the bottle from him and wedging its head briefly against the heel of her shoe, the cap popping off with a fizz and rolling across the wet tile. His eyebrows shot up, impressed. “I just hated them all staring. It reminded me too much of…”

They fell into silence for a moment before she continued. “I just wanted to get away for a minute.” She said. She leaned back against the seat, feeling a dull warmth roll through her body from the drink she had consumed. “I saw him and I just remembered all the parties we went to together. All the people I pretended to be happy in front of.”

Jon did not say anything but his presence at her side was enough. Beneath the blanket his thigh was pressed into hers, the pressure reassuring, and to his surprise she leaned her head against his arm. “I hate that you went through that.” He whispered.

She did not say anything in return, not for a long while. “He’s the reason I’ve always been distant from you, you know.” She said. “After that day on the crossway. I was so ashamed that you saw me like that and I thought you would tell Robb.”

“Never.” Jon said, extending his arm over her shoulder and pulling her to his side, her crimson head peaking through the shadows of the unlit balcony. “Robb is my best mate but I never told him any of it.”

“Another reason to thank you, I guess.”

She had sighed deeply and though Jon was not able to read her mind he was sure he knew what she was thinking. “I have reasons to thank you too.” He said. “All those years you gave me girl advice.”

She laughed. “You always were a daft fool. Never able to tell when a girl liked you.”

He felt his face heat with a blush and was glad it could not be seen in the darkness. He was suddenly overcome with memories of her. The day he had punched Joffrey so hard in the eye that his knuckles had been purple for a month. When he had been at the Stark house the night of Sansa’s prom and seen her in her dress, the lavender coloured fabric so pretty against her skin that he had stared until Robb had nudged him with his foot, bringing his attention back to their card game. When they had gone camping three summers ago and Arya had dared him to swim in the lake without his trunks and he had not known she had dared Sansa to do the same thing, both finding themselves face to face in the dark water, completely nude.

“What are you thinking about?” Sansa asked. His fingers were dragging slowly down her side, forming shapes and motions against her skin that made her lean even further into him.

His blush only deepened then and he lied quickly, “just the way Arya and Gendry were dancing.”

He could feel her smile against his side. “I’m glad she finally admitted they were a couple. I don’t know how many more we’re-just-friend-I-swear-we’re-not-dating lectures I could have taken.”

Jon laughed loudly and cursed himself, looking over his shoulder to ensure nobody had heard him. He was enjoying the bit of privacy, his cheeks beginning to ache from smiling so much before the King and his wife, and he was glad to whisk Sansa away from it all.

“You know I am scared too.” Jon said, the fingers that ran down her side soon joined by hers, her arm crossing over her stomach so her long fingers could entwine with his. “I know I can seem…stoic, I guess is the word. But I’m afraid they’ll find out. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

She gave a little moan of acknowledgment, the sound reverberating through him as though she had shouted it through a microphone. “I think it’s worse for you. What if they throw you in prison?”

Jon bristled, having always pushed away the negative thoughts before he could get that far into it. “I’m not scared of that.” He lied. “I don’t want you to marry him.”

She looked up at him, her blue eyes almost dark as onyx in the low light. “Let’s make a deal.” She said. “If anything goes wrong, we go away. Far away.”

“Oberyn would surely hide us.” Jon agreed. “He’s always had an affinity for pretty girls.”

“You’ve never called me pretty before.” she breathed, her voice so low even he could barely hear her. The rest of her face was hidden by the lapels of his jacket except her eyes, deep and cat-like and sweeping across his face.

“I’ve been so blind.” He murmured, leaning his head down to meet hers. It was only a moment. A painfully, agonizingly fast moment that their lips brushed, the sweet taste of amber beer on her mouth, the scratch of his cheek on her chin, before they were interrupted by the scrape of the door as it was opened once more.

It was Robb, looking quite pleased with what he had just seen, ignoring the glare Jon shot at him and the threat he was mouthing. “Mum wants to see you. Though I suppose she could wait if you two want to continue…”

Catelyn Stark looked worried when they entered the kitchen to find her pacing, her hands covered with yellow rubber gloves, the sponge in her hand dripping soap as she absentmindedly scrubbed at a dirty plate. When she saw them she jumped, throwing down the sponge and rushing towards them.

“You should get married tomorrow.” she said, without preamble.

“Mum, what is it?” Sansa asked, confused. “Are you alr-“

“The King’s visit has unsettled me greatly.” she said.

“Has he said something?” Sansa begun.

“No.” her mother added. “He’s too drunk to remember he’s King right now. But his wife…” she said, struggling to wash the plate she now returned to. “Cruel thing she is. Watching you like a hawk all night.”

“Mum, what are you saying?” asked Robb, all pleasure in his eyes having gone dry.

Catelyn Stark turned back to them, her lips tightly pinched. “I am saying that I think you two should marry as soon as possible.”


	9. Chapter Nine

_Chapter Nine_

_Sansa_

It was three days to Christmas yet there was not a notion of anything in Sansa’s mind except thoughts of her upcoming wedding, which her parents had talked her into planning for the next day. She was so nervous she had not been able to eat her breakfast, pushing away the plate her mother had piled high with eggs and fried bread and excusing herself from the table.

She felt different now, not only because she was officially no longer a teenager, but because she was about to enter into a completely different life than the one she had been living. She was going to marry Jon. She was going to live in his flat and share his bed thrice monthly and everyone would know.

Part of her was excited by the idea. When they had kissed on the porch swing it had been different than she would have thought. It had been so completely comfortable, his lips soft instead of bracing, as Joff’s had been, and there were no hands pawing at her breasts or trying to remove her top. She had then felt so strange, realizing that she had never properly been kissed before. Her kiss with Jon had been the best one in her life and she knew that if Robb had not interrupted it would have continued, deepened, become more impassioned.

She and Dany drove to the mall that afternoon, intending to finish up their Christmas shopping and continue their gossiping, away from any prying ears. Sansa was worried for her friend, knowing the law dictated that she had only two weeks and the time was slowly ebbing away.

All morning Sansa had been trying her best to broach the subject of Robb naturally, hoping to raise her brother’s name in conversation so seamlessly that Dany would not notice the conversation had been planned. “So…” Sansa begun, slinging her bag over her shoulder. The air smelled like candles and incense, the musky scent making her eyes water. “Robb-“

“I’m going to marry him, San.” Dany returned suddenly. Sansa choked on her words, her throat tightening.

“What?” she asked, a smile rising on her face. “I wasn’t going to-“

“You’ve brought him up six times in three hours.” Said her friend pointedly, fishing through a bin of old records her father might like. “I know what you were going to say. We spoke about it last night actually.”

“And?” Sansa urged, her heart beating fast at the prospect of her best friend marrying her brother. “What did you say?”

“He asked me.” Dany said, her face heating with a gentle blush. “After we finished dancing. Sort of pulled me aside and got down on one knee and gave me his ring.” She took her hand from her pocket and Sansa grinned, finding a plain band on Dany’s ring finger, the metal glinting in the light.

Suddenly she felt so foolish. Her wedding was a sham. They would never have a proposal or rings or a cute story to tell their friends. Well not one that was real.

But Sansa grinned at her friend and took her in her arms, hugging her so tightly that her arms began to ache. “I’m so happy for you.” She said. “You and Robb will be so happy together.”

Dany turned away to hide her growing blush and they continued their shopping, Sansa settling on a group of fine vanilla candles for her mother that nestled inside of a glass terrarium and a leather bound copy of the Knights of Old Valyria for Jon’s father. She had never bought him a gift before but after all, they were becoming family soon enough.

They went through two more shops before breaking for lunch, the many bags they carried and steps they took the more worn out they became. Dany had even hurt her arm after being pushed into a door by a busy patron and was resting a bag of ice upon it, spooning soup into her mouth with the other hand.

“We’re all becoming couples now.” Sansa mused aloud. “Do you think we’re going to be like all those annoying people we always hated?”

“No.” said Dany. “I don’t really think it will change much at all. We spend all of our time together anyway. The only difference is now were going to be having sex.” Sansa flushed deeply at the words and Dany chuckled. “I don’t want to talk about my nephew this way but from what I have heard the consummation rule won’t be much of a chore.”

“Dany!” Sansa half shouted, looking over her shoulder as though she was afraid someone was eavesdropping on them. “I don’t want to talk about that. Please.” She said, the tone of her voice making the smile fade from her best friends face.

“San, are you alright?” she asked, reaching over to take her hand. “You haven’t touched your soup.”

“I’m just…afraid.” Said Sansa, meeting Dany’s violet eyes with misty eyes. “I love Jon. As a friend I mean. Maybe we could grow to love each other truly but right now I feel like I’m ruining his life. What if he grows to resent me?”

Dany gave her a sympathetic squeeze of her hand. “He could never resent you, San.” She said. “Would you rather spend you life with a stranger or with a friend? You forget the rule applies to Jon as well. He wanted to marry you even before your father told him of your plight. Even before Tyrion came to speak to you. Even before you knew of the law at all.

“He loves his friends most of all in this world. He would do anything for them. For Robb or Theon or me or _you_ , San. And I’m only teasing about the bedding.”

“I know.” Said Sansa. In speaking to Dany she had begun to feel better, the balloon of pressure that sat on her chest seeming to lose a bit of air. “Thank you.” She returned the squeeze of her hand and turned back to her soup, her stomach grumbling loudly with the hunger she had not realized was there.

“What did you get Arya?” Dany asked, looking through a shelf of clothes. “Do you think she would like this?” she lifted up a pair of trainers with black stripes on the side.

Sansa nodded. “She has those already. Maybe these?” she said, pointing to a pair of beige sandals with a crimson tie on the side.

By the time they returned to their car a salesman had to help them carry all their bags and Sansa was feeling very much about the whole event, excited to give out the gifts she had bought.

“I got this for Jon.” she said, leaning back against her seat in the car as Dany fiddled with the radio, trying to find a station that was not spouting facts about the King, whose birthday was the day after Christmas. She flipped open the lid of a small box and Dany’s eyebrows rose. It was a watch, simple and classic, with a dark brown leather band and a wide face, its tick nearly silent. She knew Jon would like it, but hearing Dany’s opinion only made her sureness grow.

“He is going to love it.” Dany said, resisting the strong urge to tell Sansa what Jon had bought her. She instead turned to shift gears and back out of the parking space, biting her bottom lip to keep from speaking.

Sansa wanted to stay away from home as long as possible, as her mother was going a bit overboard with the preparations for the wedding. They wanted to make it as real as possible, Sansa knew. But they had just had a party the day before and she had no interest in having a second, especially not so close to the first and especially where there would be a room full of people who knew that in a few hours she and Jon would be consummating their marriage.

And of course the King and his family were invited. They would most likely be sitting in the front row, Joffrey’s beady black eyes digging into her as she stood upon the platform before the Heart Tree and recited the marriage vows she had once seen her father and mother say.

And Cersei. Sansa would not put it past her to be anything less than civil, though her cruel eyes would betray her inner thoughts one way to another and the queen would most likely dress finely in a subtle bid to outdo Sansa on her wedding day.

When they arrived at the dress shoppe she and Dany sat in the car for nearly twenty minutes before going inside, both feeling suddenly weighed down with dread at the prospect of their weddings. It was not the grooms, both women knew. It was the actual act. The marriage law had made it all so trite and unnatural.

They were finally forced to quit the car when Sansa spotted her mother’s car pull into the car park and Arya’s head bobbing up and down in the window. “Are you ready?” Sansa asked, remembering the trip she had taken to the shoppe when Rhaenys was marrying a few years earlier.

“You make it sound like we’re going into a battlefield.” Dany said.

Sansa resisted the urge to tell her that it was but when they moved through the front door Dany saw for herself. The marriage law had made it so thousands of Westerosi women were getting married and it seemed that nearly all of them were in the store, fighting over wedding gowns and drinking champagne from long crystal flutes, only to become slightly tipsy and threaten to fall from the dressing platform.

There were half a hundred familiar faces. Jeyne Poole, the Stark’s neighbor, Myranda Royce- who told them she was wedding Harrold Hardyng, the boy that had narrowly avoided defeat by Arya in fencing class, and Megga, Margaery Tyrell’s cousin, followed closely by Margaery Tyrell herself, the chestnut haired woman grinning when she saw the two girls and enveloping them in a hug.

“I’m sorry, Marg.” Sansa whispered to her friend when they were enveloped in the privacy of their own dressing room.

The mask that her friend usually bore to the world slipped and she looked sad instead, her eyes glassy. “It’s okay, really. I can still be with Brienne. Not on paper, as I wish we could be, but if there is a choice between Renly on paper and Brienne in my heart or no Brienne, the choice is obvious.”

“How did you get Renly to agree to this?” Dany asked.

Margaery waved a hand. “He’s been shagging my brother for ages. It was his idea actually. If they’re married its easy for them to be together as well. Just think of it as some sort of crazy love square.”

The three girls laughed and Dany made to respond but was interrupted by a knock on the door, Catelyn Stark returning to the dressing chamber with an armful of dresses for each girl. Dany grinned widely, taking the dresses and thanking Catelyn Stark vigorously.

Sansa knew that Dany regarded Catelyn as her mother after her own mother had passed the year after Dany was born, and as the crimson haired woman _ooh’d_ and _ahh’d_ over Dany, clapping her hands with delight as Dany modeled the dresses, Sansa could practically see the joy swelling in her best friend’s heart.

As Sansa watched her friend twirl and dance she wondered what Jon was doing. Robb had phoned earlier to tell her that they were at a pub and then were going to meet her father and Edemure Tully to buy their tuxedos. Robb had later sent her a photo of him in a lime green morning coat and a bright yellow waistcoat with matching tie.

Looking over at Dany she saw the way she was smiling fondly down at her phone Sansa knew it was Robb, most likely having sent her the same image, from the way she was giggling into her hand.

Looking closer at the photo Sansa saw Jon in the background, looking intently at his tie as he tried to tie it. He had never been any good at doing them. She could still feel the soft fabric of his tie in her hand when he had asked her to do it up for him so he could attend a state dinner with his father.

She wondered what her young self might say if she knew she was marrying him. Sansa had once been so in love with him, just after entering her sexual awakening thanks to David Bowie’s massive crotch bugle in _Labyrinth,_ and he had suddenly gone from her goofy brother’s older friend to the older boy that hung enough her house and had deep, brooding eyes.

Over the years she had gotten over her crush, though the knowledge that Jon Targaryen was the fittest boy in her school remained in her mind forever.

When it was her turn to try on her dresses Sansa found she was actually excited, the heart in her chest seeming to rise into her throat and beat steadily there when she came out of the dressing room and stepped up on the platform before her family.

Arya looked horrified, rejecting the dress immediately and claiming “it looks like a potato bag!” even her mother looked less than pleased with the first gown, urging her to try on the others. She went through five wedding gowns before stepping out to hear her mother gasp and Dany’s eyes widen.

“You look…beautiful.” Her mother said, dabbing at her eyes with the same napkin she had used when Dany had made her cry the hour earlier. “Honey it is lovely.”

Arya looked pleased, making her spin around several times like she was a princess in a Disney film. Sansa grinned, looking in the mirror and realizing with complete pleasure that not only did she like it but Jon was also sure to love it.

The gown was sleep and simple in the front but bore her back fully, the dress dipping down to her lower back in a simple U shape. To make it all the more delicate a small jeweled necklace was string from shoulder to shoulder, dipping down in a matching U shape and grazing her bare lower back enough to make her shiver.

“You look lovely.” Dany said, embracing her best friend. She lowered her voice, her words and hot breath making a shiver run down Sansa’s spine. “Jon is going to love it.”


	10. Chapter Ten

_Chapter Ten_

_Sansa_

Sansa was not sure how shopping could have exhausted her so much. After choosing their dresses it was still another few hours before she returned home, dropping her shopping bags by the door and collapsing into bed.

When her mother had driven them home, Sansa had begun to nod gently off in the passenger seat, reflecting on how much fun she had had at the dress shoppe with her mother and sisters, thought Dany was not her sister by blood surely she was by bond.

The owner of the shoppe had been an older woman, perhaps a few years older than Catelyn, and had been very kind, offering them a tray of small desserts, tea cakes and iced biscuits, as well as a bottle of champagne split into four glasses. And before leaving them to their solitude she had told Dany and Sansa how lovely they looked in their dresses and wished them luck in their respective marriages.

Sansa had felt so beautiful in her dress. If she could have she would have worn it every hour of every day of every year, running her fingers down the soft fabric and feeling the embellishments of beading on the shoulders of the gown before tucking it away into its dress box.

Sansa had even caught her sister admiring her reflection in the floor to ceiling mirror as she tried on her bridesmaid dress, spinning around on the platform so she could watch the skirt fly up around her. She looked so sweet in her navy coloured gown, her mud-flecked trainers sticking out from under it, and a jeweled headband tucked into her dark hair.

Both Sansa and Dany had asked Arya to be in their wedding party and thought the younger Stark girl had pretended to not be interested Sansa had seen the way her eyes lit and twinkled.

“Is Rhaenys still in Meereen?” Catelyn had asked, wondering why the silver haired girl had not asked her niece to be in her wedding party.

“Yes.” Dany replied, smoothing the skirt of her dress with trembling fingers. “She’s studying ancient war techniques. The Unsullied I think they’re called. _But_ I’m very happy to have Arya as my bridesmaid.” She gave Arya a grin, patting her hand. “Who else could look so fit in a wedding dress and soccer trainers?”

Perhaps Arya had the most fun of them all, looking pleased as she twirled around the room in her dress and striking different poses in time with the song that rang out over the radio. Catelyn had even allowed her a small glass of champagne, the first drink she had not snuck from Gendry’s glass, and by the time she had finished it her cheeks were flushed with happiness ad drink.

Lying crossways on her bed without even an ounce of energy to kick off her shoes Sansa sank into a sleep so deep that she was not roused when Robb passed in front of her room and dropped his cup, glass shattering across the wooden floor, or when Rickon had fallen from his skateboard and the wheeled board had clunked down the stairs loudly enough to be heard all the way across the house.

Sansa was only roused by the hot wave of air that billowed out of the heater in the corner of the room. She had been in the midst of a pleasant dream when suddenly she found herself sweating, the coat she still wore suddenly seeming like it was strangling her.

She was almost too tired to change but the heat was so overwhelmingly hot that she could not bear it, rising from her bed and stumbling blindly towards the closet. It was only a few moments of kicking off her clothes and slipping a nightshirt over her head before she could return to the overwhelming comfort of her bed.

As Sansa curled under her blankets, fatigue clawed at her eyes but Sansa knew it was not unwelcomed. In fact she was thankful for it as she was too tired to become overwhelmed with the fact that she was getting married tomorrow.

It felt like mere moments had passed before Sansa was awoken again, startled by the sound of something outside her window. She peeked open an eye, finding the sound subsided, and had just begun to think that perhaps it was just a part of her dream when the noise returned, a quiet tap against the windowpane.

She crossed the dark room, parting her curtains and squinting down. All of a sudden she was fully awake, finding Jon half shrouded in the shadow given off by the large oak tree in the yard. She slid open the window, leaning out to call, “should I let down my hair?”

Even from so far up she could hear his soft chuckle. “Are you dressed?”

“Yes.” She replied, giving him a surprised look. “Why don’t you come up?” He accepted her invitation, struggling to keep his voice at an audible whisper, as he did not want to disturb any other members of the sleeping Stark household.

Sansa crept down the stairs to unlock the back door, moving easily through the dark house as she was completely familiar with her childhood home. The grandfather clock in the foyer read five AM and she was simultaneously struck with two thoughts: _today is my wedding day_ and _maybe Jon changed his mind and that is why he’s here so early_.

She turned the lock on the door, hearing it click sharply as it opened, and worried that her parents might wake up. She suddenly felt like she was in high school again, sneaking out of the house with Joffrey or sneaking Dany and Margaery in.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered, stepping out into the cold night air and wishing she had thought to don a jacket or a pair of slippers first, her bare toes curling against the icy porch. It had begun to snow while she was sleeping and the yard was littered with hills of snow, the icy tree outside her window looking like it was glittering with diamonds. Suddenly she noticed something, looking puzzled. “Why are you wearing a blindfold?”

Her fiancé was dressed for an outing, the winter coat he wore buttoned to his neck with a crimson scarf tucked beneath, the only strange thing about his outfit being a yellow scarf that was tied around his eyes and knotted at the back of his head.

“Dany told me it was bad luck to see my bride before our wedding.” he said, laughing at the absurdity of what he had just said. A few soft curls fell into his face. “We need all the luck we can get.”

She looked up at him, wondering if he was truly blinded by the scarf, and waved a hand in front of his face. He did not flinch and she felt reassured, not only feeling cold in the nightshirt but naked, the fabric worn enough to be sheer in certain areas.

With the scarf over his eyes he could not see where she stood and Jon reached out, trying to feel his way towards her. She took his outstretched hand, watching the way their fingers sank slowly together before becoming entwined. Her thumb traced his lightly and the corner of his mouth twitched into a sidelong smile.

She was barefoot, standing toe to toe with Jon, and his other hand rose to her shoulder, his fingers brushing against her bare skin. She could see his brow furrowing. “Why aren’t you wearing a coat?” he asked.

She let out a laugh, her breath fogging in the air. It was cold enough for a dusting of snow to fall around them. “I was sleeping.”

He began to undo the buttons of his coat and held it open for her like it was awaiting her embrace and as she slipped her arms around his middle he closed it around them.

She lay against him, the heat of his body filtering through to warm her, and as he shivered she could feel the rough clench of muscle against her, the motion making excitement unspool in her stomach.

For a moment neither one of them said a word. Sansa wondered how her body could feel so perfect against hers, the rough edges of him seeming to contour gracefully against the soft curves of her.

She could feel his cheek rest against her head and in the quiet, windless night she could hear him inhale, taking a deep breath of the lavender shampoo she had washed with that morning. Sansa could even hear his heartbeat, her ear pressed against the concave of his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his body with every breath.

It was just a hug, she knew. But it was so much more than that. It was a private moment, with no threat of interruption and no feel of awkwardness. It was just them.

“We are getting married today.” He breathed, breaking he silence. She could feel the movement of his mouth against her head, his breath tickling her.

“I know.” She replied. Her hand had dropped to his arm, her thumb absently tracing the skin of his forearm. “I’m nervous.”

“Me too.” Jon replied, giving a short laugh. “I don’t know why, really.”

“Me neither. But the King will be there.” Sansa said. “And Cersei. Probably Joff as well.”

She could feel Jon tense at the name but the smile on his lips did not die. Sansa looked up at him, wondering how he could remain so completely positive and uninhibited by the nerves that ate away at her. It was almost sunrise now and she wondered how long they had been standing there like that, Jon’s coat enveloping them as the dark sky began to glow with pink and red streaks. “Well then we have give them a show, mustn’t we?” he said, grinning down at her, his eyes blinded but his smile no less bright.


	11. Chapter Eleven

_Chapter Eleven_

_Sansa_

It was already six o’clock in the morning when Sansa danced back into the house, feeling light as a feather and just as free. Jon’s smile had given her comfort and his words had been so sweet that she could not help but feel exhilarated by the prospect of her upcoming wedding.

Sansa had just rounded the corner when she bumped into Arya, looking sullen and tired, her hair amuck and her hand bearing a cup of coffee large enough to house a bird’s nest. “What are you doing up this early?” Sansa asked. Her sister hated rising before the sun. Nearly all of the Stark’s did except for Catelyn and Bran, who often pulled himself out of his bed to watch the sun rise.

Sansa’s answer came with a yelp as her mother backed into the kitchen holding a tea service and nearly crashed into her. “Oh, darling!” her mother said. “I was just coming to wake you.” Suddenly she looked skeptical. “What are you doing up?”

“I set my alarm.” Sansa lied. “Went off a half hour ago.”

Her mother smiled. “Excited for your wedding I see. There’s a good girl, I told you this would all work out for the best!”

Next to roll out of bed was Eddard Stark, who, despite his predisposition or sleeping until after sunrise, looked chipper and strapping in pressed trousers and an unbuttoned shirt, his tie undone and awaiting Catelyn’s deft hand. “Good morning, dearest.” He said, kissing Sansa’s head before moving to Arya. “You look lovely as always, dear.” He teased, trying to steal the coffee out of her hand.

In the next room Sansa could hear Rickon jump onto Bran’s bed and try to rouse him, his little feet causing the mattress to creak with the combined weight of both boys.

“Is Shireen coming?” Sansa asked, pushing her brother’s chair over to him so he could more easily sit in it before handing him the tea she had made up. “Cream and sugar, just how you like.”

Bran beamed. “Thank you. And yes, she texted yesterday to tell me. The King’s brothers will be in attendance as well.”

Sansa groaned. “Well it doesn’t look like this is going to be a small ceremony after all.”

“It will be okay.” Said Bran, patting her hand. “Will you save me a dance?” he asked, pointing at one of the wheels on his chair. “I’ve been practicing with Shireen. She even ordered me these special grips to put on the wheels so I can dip you.”

Sansa leaned down to kiss her brother on the cheek. “You are the sweetest boy I have ever known. And one day I will be at your wedding and it will be you that I dance with.” She said, holding out her arms as though she was holding a partner and spinning, her bare feet sliding easily on the cool marble tile of his room. “And Miss Shireen will have to fight me for you.” She winked.

They ate breakfast as a family, the air in the room practically buzzing with excitement. Sansa could not follow a single conversation as there were too many going on around her, Rickon asking to pass the salt, Arya begging for another cup of coffee, Bran telling his mother all the dances he had learned. It was almost too much. But not really. Sansa had missed her family greatly while she was at university and the chaos of breakfast was a welcomed one.

And then suddenly, as soon as Sansa had swallowed her last bit of egg, she was whisked away to the bathroom, to the tub that had been miraculously filled. She was stripped of her clothes and sunk into the tub, the water so hot that she could see steam rising from her skin when she lifted a leg out of the water.

Arya and her mother sat at her side, Catelyn working her fingers through Sansa’s long hair and trying to detangle the knots that had formed from tossing and turning in her bed, and Arya was reading aloud the list of guests who had confirmed they would be attending.

There were all too many, Sansa deemed. Some people she had only met once or twice, some people she _wished_ she had only met once or twice. Some she wished she had never met at all.

It was almost nine now and when Sansa came out of the bath in her cotton robe she found her wedding dress laid carefully over the bed, glittering in the light that filtered in through the open window beside her desk.

“I know that this is not a true marriage.” Catelyn said. “And you must think me an old nag for putting so much thought and effort into it. But you are my daughter and I will not have you married in the court house in a pair of trousers.”

Sansa rolled her eyes playfully. “I know mum.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “I could never call you an old nag.”

“At least not to your face.” Arya muttered teasingly, licking a spoon she had doused in chocolate syrup in hopes that the caffeine and sugar combination would wake her up.

“Where is the ceremony anyway?” Arya asked, earning a dangerous look from her mother when her chocolate spoon breached the air above the wedding gown. “I thought it was going to be in the backyard.”

“Yes.” Catelyn huffed. “But that was before half of Westeros sent in their arrival cards.”

“So where is it?” Sansa asked, awaiting the answer with dread like lead in her belly. She desperately hoped it wasn’t anywhere too fancy or stuffy.

“That, my dear, is a surprise.”

“Oh mum.” Both Arya and Sansa huffed at the same time. While Arya had been rolling her eyes Sansa had managed to steal a lick from her spoon and Catelyn watched as her only daughters fought over a spoon dipped in chocolate. She had though they were growing up so fast. And yet here they were.

Dany arrived not long after that, running through the grass and into the house, shouting that she was sorry she was late and that she broke her heel on a hole in the street and please Mrs. Stark can you fix them they’re my favourite pair.

The Stark’s guests began to filter in and out of the house at that point. Benjen and Brandon Stark, Edemure Tully, and Sansa’s father returned to his study under the guise that they were fixing their ties when Catelyn could hear them betting on the outcome of the university rugby match.

Lysa Tully had made her appearance with her son and her second husband, Petyr Baelish, one of the university professor’s that Sansa had had last year. “You look lovely, dearest.” Lysa cooed. “Any man would be lucky to have you.”

Professor Baelish agreed. “Yes indeed, Miss Stark. Or should I say Mrs. Targaryen. You look lovely, quite like your mother on her wedding day.”

Arya and Sansa exchanged a look and beat a hasty retreat, retuning quickly to the privacy of her room and breathing a sigh of relief, glad to be away from such ruckus guests.

“You really do look nice.” Arya said, looking at her sister in the mirror and smiling fondly. “Mum should have been a hairstylist.”

Catelyn had twisted Sansa’s hair into a delicate updo, sliding a few ruby pins into her crimson hair, a stark contrast with the white of her gown. Even the flush that had filled Sansa’s face at the excitement of seeing everyone and the nervousness of marrying looked perfectly lovely, the soft pink only making her look more lively.

All too quickly it was time to enter her father’s car, the heavy coat she wore completely covering her gown except her skirt, which she held up delicately to keep it from getting wet from the snow or dirty from the yard.

Sansa didn’t really know where she was going but did not have much time to worry about it, the car filling up like a clown car, so many Stark’s piled into the front and back seats that if they were to crash the majority of the King’s privy council would have to be replaced.

“Close your eyes.” She was instructed and ever dutiful, she did as she was told. She could feel the car turn, the small hands Rickon had placed over her eyes feeling cold and clammy but nevertheless sweet and when he removed them she kissed each hand, feeling his small fingers tickle her chin as she did so.

“Alright. Open them.”

For a moment she was too surprised to comprehend what was before her. They were parked before the Targaryen house but it was almost unrecognizable. Strings of yellow lights hang from every branch of the large oak tree that dominated most of the yard, hung in such a way that they created an arch under which many people were walking, heading towards the back of the house. Lanterns swayed in the wind, their candles flickering and creating small pools of white and red light just beneath.

It took Sansa’s breath away. But not as much as Jon’s did when he saw her through the window.

**********

_Jon_

He knew he wasn’t supposed to look. He wasn’t supposed to see her before she walked down the aisle to meet him but he could not help it. Even a blind man would be drawn to her at that moment. She looked so lovely he thought he could actually cry, like he was looking at a great piece of art of reading a lovely line of poetry.

And she looked so happy.

Jon had been so afraid that she would not want this. That she would change her mind and run away or hide or anything but what she was doing now, grinning as she stepped down the cobblestone path beneath the arch of lights Dany had hung.

He watched his aunt now, limping slightly from the bruise on her leg she had gotten from falling out of the tree while she was trying to hang a lantern. She leaned on Robb’s arm, his best mate looking as happy as though this was his wedding day.

“She’s here isn’t she?” Oberyn Martell asked his nephew, lounging back in the chair beside Jon’s writing desk and taking a long pull from his beer. He watched his nephew with a knowing, mirthful gaze. Jon nodded. “You look like a man in love.” Oberyn said but before Jon could open his mouth to refute him, there was a knock on the door, his mother calling, “Jon? May I come in?”

Elia Martell looked lovely, dressed in a soft blue and crimson down, her long hair falling down her back in a single long plait. She smiled when she saw her son and hugged him tightly, her head aligning with his chest. “It’s a good thing you’re doing for her.” she said, holding him at arms length so she could inspect him, her nimble fingers moving to redo his tie.

Oberyn watched him, his eyes seeming suddenly omniscient. Jon wanted to reply that he would do anything for her, but at the sight of his bride coming out of the car his mouth had gone suddenly dry.

They spoke for another few minutes before his father ducked through the door, looking as strapping as a knight in his pressed suit. He kissed Elia, nudging her forehead gently with his and Jon smiled. All his life he had only wanted to love someone as much as his father loved his mother.

Oberyn and Elia left Rhaegar alone with his son, the silver haired man looking immensely pleased. A beat of silence passed between them. “You love her don’t you?”

Jon wanted to say no. He wanted to say that she was his best friend’s younger sister. That she was his friend and he was doing her a favour. That he wanted to protect her from Joffrey and the Queen. But, under the cool gaze of his father, he could only agree. “Yes.” He said.

Rhaegar smiled. “And she loves you.” He said. “I think you’ve loved each other for a long time but you have been to blind to see it. Perhaps there is a silver lining to this asinine law after all if it got you two together.”

Jon looked through the window again but Sansa was gone, most likely being fawned over by hundreds of people she did not know nor care for. The thought of her and Arya trying to escape the crowd made him smile.

His mother knocked again. “Are you ready?” she asked. “The Septon is waiting.”

The descent down the stairs seemed the longest it had ever been. The house was quiet, all the guests having taken their seats in the backyard by now, and as Jon walked with his father and mother he felt completely at peace. Even as he walked down the aisle to stand beside the High Septon with his father, uncle, and best friend beside him and Cersei Lannister’s haughty gaze upon him, he felt at ease.

The backyard had been decorated much like the front, candles and fairy lights glittering and waving in the wind. A square platform had been laid over the grass and as he looked at the sea of white backed chairs he could see an array of familiar faces, some smiling, some winking bawdily.

His father had offered to play the harp but Jon had wanted him by his side, Arianne taking his place. As Jon saw Arya dance down the outside of the aisle to whisper in Arianne’s ear and he heard the swell of music he knew Sansa was coming, his eyes glued to the double doors that stood at the other end of the aisle.

Benjen Stark and Edemure Tully pulled the doors open. Shireen Baratheon came first, laying crimson flower petals over the aisle, followed by Rickon Stark, whom Jon had entrusted to bear the rings, and after him came Arya and Dany. Jon watched them come and go, counting down the moments before he was to see Sansa.

The music began to swell again and Jon saw Eddard Stark turn the corner with a figure clad in white on his arm. Even though Jon had already seen her she took his breath away all over again. He could feel eyes upon him, watching, weighing his movements and expressions. But he did not even have to act. He was so completely overcome with happiness and love that he need not pretend.

Sansa grinned when she saw him. A thin veil hung over her face, blocking the blush that seemed a constant companion to her, and Jon’s fingers ached to remove it so he would be able to get a better view of his bride.

Catelyn Stark was crying. So was his mother. His father was grinning so widely Jon wondered how his cheeks were not aching. Even Dany and Arya- who had a running bet to see who could cry the least when watching sad movies, looked misty eyed.

But Jon did not care about them at all. He had eyes only for Sansa.

She kissed her father softly and parted ways with him, coming to stand beside Jon on the dais, turning to face the High Septon. He looked at her out of the corner of his eye. She looked back, her blush deepening, and she gave a shy smile.

The Septon began the ceremony and Jon was snapped back to reality, listening to the words though not truly hearing them. Part of him was still in shock that he was going to be married at all, let alone to Sansa Stark. Part of him was still in shock that he was in love with his wife. Part of him was still laughing at the absurdity of it.

Jon heard the words he knew meant he should return to paying attention. The High Septon spoke, lifting his eyes from his book to look at them. “In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity. Please look upon one another and say the words.” Said the High Septon with a smile.

Jon and Sansa turned to look at each other, Jon raising his hands to lift the veil over her head, the thin fabric falling over her crimson hair and revealing her face.

The High Septon continued, “Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am hers and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

Sansa looked at him, her eyes so big and blue that he thought he might down in them. When they spoke, they did so in unison, their voices mingling and projecting across the yard. “Father. Smith. Warrior. Mother. Maiden. Crone. Stranger. I am hers and she is mine, from this day, until the end of my days.”

“Jon Targaryen, you may kiss your bride.” The Septon grinned, closing his book and stepping back to allow them their privacy. Well, as much privacy as one could have before a hundred guests.

The kiss Jon and Sansa shared upon the dais was small and chaste and over all too quickly but it sealed them forever as husband and wife. And it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woooooh. That was a long one! I am so happy to be able to write this chapter. I've been waiting for this moment as long as you guys have!


	12. Chapter Twelve

_Chapter Twelve_

_Jon_

Jon couldn’t eat. He could not spare his mouth from smiling if even just for a moment. Nor could he tear his gaze from his wife. He looked at her as though he had never before seen her and though she flushed under his heated gaze he could see the smile pulling at the corners of her mouth, her hand moving from her lap to his, fingers curling through his beneath the table.

It was almost a private moment, although they were being watched by half of King’s Landing, for they only had eyes for each other.

Sansa felt somewhat guilty for not touching the food piled onto her plate. Both of their mothers had worked tirelessly to plan the meal to include all of their favourites, Jon’s Yorkshire pudding stacked on trays as high as he stood and Sansa’s lemon cakes arranged on a tea tray at the end of each table.

It was beautiful. Everything was, growing all the more picturesque as the sun set and the yard was cast in the beautiful illuminations given off by the lanterns and fairy lights that hung over their heads. Even when it began to snow again, and Elia Martell began to fret over the temperature and the comfort of her guests, Sansa did not mind it.

She and Jon had always shared a love of snow and as it fell around them he laid a coat over her shoulders, looking somewhat disappointed to cover her so completely and hide the dress he had come to love so much.

When the snow began to fall harder and the wind rose, whipping at their ears and sending napkins fluttering about the yard in their own snowstorms. It was a flurry of activity, guests struggling to keep their footing while wearing heels and dress shoes, slipping in the slick grass as they carried into the house the many trays and gifts that decorated the yard.

The Targaryen house then became the new location for the wedding festivities, Rhaegar kneeling to light a fire in the grate, the heat from the roaring flames instantly spreading through the property and causing the gooseflesh on their arms to disappear. Sansa laughed loudly when Jon’s heel caught in a patch of ice as they crossed what had once been the dance floor and he slipped forward, falling into her arms in a makeshift dip.

She kissed him. His lips were icy cold and shivering and his hand moved to thread through her hair, accidently pulling one of the ruby pins out of her hair. It made him smile, a curl of crimson hair unspooling from its position on top of her head and falling over her shoulder, tickling his nose as the wind blew it forward.

They heard a cheer, breaking apart to see a crowd having gathered before the sliding glass doors that led from the living room to the backyard. From the front of the small gathering Dany beamed at them, nuzzling closer to Robb.

“Come on Bran!” Sansa said, pulling her brother’s hand and urging him forward. Shireen sat in his lap, one arm wrapped around his neck to keep her balance, the other holding the tray of lemon cakes that Bran had circled back for, hoping to save the dessert from the blizzard for his sister.

Jon stood at her brother’s back, pushing him forward by the curved metal handles of his wheelchair, keeping him steady as his chair threatened to lose balance on the already hardening snow that built up in piles on the grass. “We’re ice skating!” Bran laughed, his arms free to wrap around the waist of his girlfriend now that he did not have to push his own chair.

Jon’s face was red from exertion as he struggled to pull the chair and Sansa decided to put him out of his misery, taking the other handle and pushing with all her might. They truly were ice-skating, Sansa feeling weightless and somewhat perilous as the lack of tread on her shoes floated over the surface of the ice mush.

“Come inside or you’ll get a fever!” their mother called, appearing in the doorway and looking quite cold, so completely bundled in a coat that for a moment Sansa had not recognized her. “That’s no way to start a marriage.”

“At least if we were sick we would get some free time.” Jon muttered, but nevertheless did as his mother-in-law had bid and guided their little group to the edge of the balcony.

Sansa shivered but as soon as she pushed open the glass door she was welcomed by a wave of heat that rolled over her body and made her instantly shrug out of Jon’s coat, lying it over the back of a chair and moving to fix herself another drink.

The DJ had relocated his instruments to the house and Brandon and Benjen begun to rearrange the array of furniture that had once occupied the living, a thrill running through the crowd.

“My lady.” Oberyn said, handing her an amber coloured drink, a squeeze of lemon squeezed on the rim. He leaned against the bar, offering a small wink. “Better make it quick, your first dance is coming up.”

“Don’t worry.” Jon teased, leaning over to whisper in her ear. His hot breath on the shell of her ear made her stifle a shiver, throwing back the drink with a jerk of her head. It was bitter and sweet at the same time. “Just follow my lead.”

The house was filled with a soft, sweet melody and Jon swept into a facetious bow that would make a prince in a Disney film jealous. She took the hand he offered and allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor.

Her feet were as cold as blocks of ice and the hem of her skirt had trailed in the snow, leaving her legs cold and wet but she didn’t care one bit. Even as he spun her quite close to the fireplace and a flush of heat ran over her, hot enough to make a light sheen of sweat spring to her brow, she did not care.

Sansa and Jon shared their dance with a thousand wet eyes upon them, Jon turning her about the dance floor, doing his best to lead her fumbling feet, his even hand on her waist keeping her close. She could feel the contraction of his body against hers as he spun her, her back pressed against his front close enough to feel his heat beat.

They had each taken a shot of Dornish liquor and now Jon began to feel its effects, suddenly intoxicated by her perfume, by the soft curve of her hip beneath his hand, by the way her lips quirked into a smile that seemed just for him. Even his wet shoes did not bother him, though he did seem suddenly less coordinated than usual, accidently slipping once on the tile and earning a soft chuckle from Sansa.

The emptiness of the rest of the makeshift dance floor was slowly filled in with other couples, lips and fingers and hips brushing softly against each other in the half darkness. The ambiance was set, the overhead lights of the house not flipped on, the only light being from the fairy lights and lanterns that still twinkled in the yard.

They had barely left the dance floor when Sansa felt a hand slip into hers, Dany appearing at her side and pleading that she follow her. “You too, nephew.” She said, gripping his hand tightly.

Daenerys dragged them up the stairs, imploring them to step quietly so they would not be followed. “Where are we going?” Jon asked, being pulled along behind the two women. His socks were now officially soaked through and sticking to his skin like they had been pasted there and he ached for a change of clothes.

“You’ll see!” the silver haired girl said. She was practically buzzing with excitement and it was just another moment more before they reached the door to her father’s study, Dany turning suddenly on her heel and facing them. “I’m getting married.” Sansa and Jon exchanged a confused look. “I hope you aren’t cross. I don’t want to steal your thunder I just…I want to marry your brother and I thought since everyone was here-.”

“I’m not mad at all.” Sansa said, a smile breaking over her face as she embraced the silver haired girl. “I’m so happy I think if I died right now it would not mind it.”

“Well I would.” Her husband protested, his forehead gently nudging hers as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Will you be our witnesses?” asked Dany.

“Of course.” Sansa said. “What about your dress?”

“I don’t care about the dress. I just want to marry your stupid brother.” Dany grinned.

The room was alight when they entered it, the many shelves and crevices of Rhaegar’s study glittering with decorative candles. This was perhaps the only room in the Targaryen house Sansa had never before seen but it was exactly as she had expected, wooden and stern and completely immaculate- much like Rhaegar himself.

Robb stood before the window, beside the High Septon, and the only other people in the room were Arya and Gendry, cuddled close together before the half open window. “They roped you into this too, eh?” Gendry jested, leaning down to kiss Arya’s brow.

Sansa would not have been very surprised if they decided to marry here too. Love certainly seemed to be in the air.

Their ceremony was everything Sansa had wanted hers to be. There were only familiar faces around her as Robb and Dany joined hands, repeating the words that felt all too familiar in Sansa’s mouth, for she had said them not two hours earlier. Robb looked so happy that Sansa just wanted to throw her arms around him, suddenly stuck with the memories they shared as children when they had played feux wedding games with Dany and Jon. And now here they were, both grown, both wed, both in love.

Their kiss was far deeper than Jon and Sansa’s had been, the hands that Robb wrapped around Dany’s waist pulling her deeper into his body and her mouth pressed more firmly against his. The High Septon quickly excused himself, leaving the room with a promise to remain quiet on the events that had occurred in that room.

They had to excuse themselves quickly after that, the voices that drifted up the stairs proving that their absence had been noted. “Just went to the bathroom, mum.” Sansa promised, jumping down the stairs.

“I’m sure.” King Robert scoffed, seeming to appear out of thin air. “Just went to the bathroom, eh? I wouldn’t be surprised if they ran off to work out that pesky consummation rule. Your welcome, my friend.” He said, nudging Jon in the ribs and laughing loudly.

Sansa felt as though the floor had disappeared from under her. The colour had drained out of her mother’s face and her father quickly busied himself with fixing another drink, pretending he had not heard the words the King had shouted. Sansa could not respond, so completely mortified that her face reddened as though she had been slapped.

“I j-just needed to p-powder my f-face.” She replied, her voice so small it seemed to disappear. Jon looked furious, his face reddening but for a completely different reason and the hands that had turned to fists at his sides looked deadly.

“I’m only kidding, Ned.” Robert continued loudly. “I know that a pretty young thing like your daughter would not do such a deed in the washroom. I’ve had my fair share of those-“

Sansa wanted to die. She had not spoken about sex before her parents since her mother had given her the sex talk when she was in grade five and she had been confused as to how to complete her human development schoolwork. She tried to stutter out another sentence but instead turned away, pleading with Oberyn, who stood just a little ways off and had probably heard the King’s words, to call her away.

“Sansa!” the Dornishman called, seeming to understand her frantic eye gesture. “Could you come here for a moment, dearest?” he said. “And you Jon.”

Once free of the King Sansa could barely meet her husband’s eye. They both knew the events that were to come at the end of the night but neither had spoken about it.

“That was a rough one.” Oberyn muttered, interrupting Sansa's embarrassed thoughts. “I take the blame for that one. I think it was the sixth shot of Dornish gin that did him in.”


	13. Chapter Thirteen

_Chapter Thirteen_

_Sansa_

By the time the wedding ceremony came to an end Sansa was so thankful that she could have cried. Her shoes had begun to make her feet ache and she had spoken to so many people that her mouth had gone dry, no amount of wine nor water she drank rehydrating her.

She bid goodnight to her mother and father, kissing each of their cheeks and hoping they were not remembering the words the King had said. But she knew that they knew where she was headed, to a hotel suite that had been rented so Jon and Sansa could have their privacy on their wedding night. It was a fact known by everyone and while Sansa was not too embarrassed by the act itself, she was embarrassed by the prospect of everyone knowing where she was off to, their eyes winking or staring, their mouths upturned in crude grins.

It was only when she sank into the passenger seat of Jon’s car did she relax, the tension in her body beginning to unravel slowly.

Sansa had thrown her overnight bag into the back seat without thinking and now reached for it, turning halfway around in her chair so she could unzip the front pouch for the change of shoes she had packed. Over her safety belt Jon’s coat draped over her like a blanket and she was so tired that while she had thought that she had only slept for a few moments, when she opened her eyes again she found they were pulling forward towards the entrance of the hotel.

Jon took her hand as he helped her out of the car, her breath coming out in a mist as she sighed, leaning into his arms as they walked through the lobby. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, all vaulted ceilings and crystal chandeliers and men and women that looked to be wearing their best clothes.

They walked in a comfortable silence, Sansa’s cold hand holding Jon’s and her head leaning against his arm as they entered the lift. Their floor was decorated in white tile and a crimson carpet, making Sansa feel like she was a celebrity approaching an awards show.

“Jon you didn’t have to do all of this.” Sansa said, in awe of the beauty of their room. For all the lobby had been breathtaking, it was nothing compared to their suite.

It bore three rooms, a bedroom, a living room, and a small kitchen stocked with cupboards of assorted treats. The living room resembled the Water Gardens, that Sansa had only ever seen in books and Oberyn had pledged to show her, the room gilded and embellished with rich colours of crimson and gold.

Her eyes flicked to the bedroom, the ivory doors propped wide enough that she could see inside. It was almost dark except for a silver glow from the moonlight entering the room through the open window. The bed they would soon share was large enough to house seven of them, so wide that it dominated most of the far wall.

“I’d like to shower, if you don’t mind.” Sansa murmured. Half of her expected to find the tub was made of solid gold.

Jon looked at her, cocking his head to the side. “You don’t have to ask permission to shower, Sans. I’m your husband not your owner.”

She gaped at him, completely unaware that she had done so. The last time she had been in a hotel like this one was with Joff and around him she had always been so formal and stiff, having to inform him of her every move before she did it, even if she was just going to take a shower.

But she was here with Jon and Jon was as different as Joff as though they were sun and moon. And as she turned to look at him over her shoulder, his eyes bright and warm, watching as she crossed the room like she was the most enthralling being he had ever seen, all thoughts of Joffrey were wiped clean from her mind.

It did not take long to sink into the hot water and wash off the perfumes and lotions and stresses of the day, watching the water slosh off her back and swirl down the drain. There was a cotton robe hanging on the hook near the door and it was soft as fir when she wrapped it around herself, padding barefoot into the next room.

Jon was sitting with his back to her, the telly flickering absently. A beer was set on the table beside him, half empty, the fizz of the liquid spilling down the side of the neck of the bottle and settling in a pool on the table.

The door slid open without sound as Sansa stepped inside, her bare feet jolting against the cold stone. Jon had not heard her enter and it was not until she slid open the refrigerator door to take a beer of her own that he turned.

The surprise on his face was evident, his mouth falling slack and his eyebrows drawing together. “Sansa.” He said. Her name in his mouth felt completely familiar, the sound washing over her and easing the tension from her body.

Jon’s dark eyes focused on her shoulder after the lapel of her robe had fallen to leave her shoulder without cover, the bare skin still shining with the last few diamonds of water that had yet to dry. His half hooded eyes seemed endless, watching her movements with intense closeness.

“Rugby again?” Sansa whispered, standing just before the couch. Her hand fell to his shoulder, her index finger brushing across his neck and eliciting a shiver from him as her finger traced across the scar he had gotten during his first time shaving.

Their eyes shifted back to the telly. “Robb owes me twenty dragons.” He whispered, his mouth having gone suddenly dry. Jon was sure that if an alien space ship crashed suddenly through the rugby stadium and began to eat the player’s whole he would not have noticed. “Though I suppose I could collect it later…”

Sansa gave him a coquettish look, emboldened by the sight of Jon’s hot gaze falling to her bare legs, the robe parting in a slit that rose to her thigh. She was not sure she had ever felt so sexy in her life. Her hand rose to cup his cheek, brushing her thumb against his bottom lip. "Yes." she whispered. “Collect it later.”

His hand was tentative as it rose to touch her thigh beneath the robe, his fingers curling against her skin. They lingered there for a moment, frozen with fear and exhilaration, until, in a moment of blind bravery Sansa arched her leg over the couch and settled herself in Jon’s lap.

Her legs spread to fall on either side of his, her arms draping over his shoulders and clasping behind his neck. She was surprised by how familiar it felt. She suddenly became hyperaware of the fact that she wore nothing beneath her robe.

"I have been such a fool." Sansa murmured. She rested her forehead against his, their noses brushing softly. She closed her eyes, relishing in the feeling of his body, hard and strapping and well muscled, lying taut as a drawn bowstring beneath her. "Never to realize..."

"So have I." Jon’s face nuzzled into the side of her neck, his mouth leaving hot, wet, opened-mouthed kisses on the column of her neck and the hollowed area of her collarbones, the rough stubble leaving soft scratches on her skin.

Sansa was so close that Jon could smell the mint and drink on her breath. The pads of his fingers pulled down upon her bottom lip, tipping her chin up slightly, her sweet red lips parting slightly as he kissed her.

Jon was surprised when she deepened the kiss, her tongue slipping against his bottom lip and feeling him stiffen in response to her touch. Her cold hands dipped beneath his collar and she could feel his shoulders taut and well muscled as they roiled beneath her fingers.

Sansa was pressed flush against him and he leaned back, the sofa creaking slightly from the combined weight of both of their bodies. Sansa felt slightly embarrassed by her inexperience but Jon said nothing, her cheek cupped in his hand; gently urging her face to turn whichever way would make their kiss more pleasurable.

His kisses were hot and open mouthed and they made a pressure build in Sansa's stomach that she could not identify as nervousness or excitement before deciding it was both. As she leaned forward the knot in the belt of her robe digging into her stomach. Her fingers dropped from his shoulders to undo it, suddenly shaking, suddenly nervous at the prospect of being naked before Jon Targaryen.

“We don’t have to do this.” Jon said, his hands rising to still hers. His chest heaved from breathlessness and his lips were lightly swollen from the ferocity of their kisses. But Sansa could see the gentility in his dark eyes and knew he was not lying.

“I know.” She whispered, her hands slowly resuming their work, devoid of the nervousness that had built within her.

The knot unfurled easily and the belt slipped from its loops to fall to the floor. Jon responded to her admonition with a kiss, his mouth consuming hers with grand passion and she clung to him, her mouth upon turning, twisting, following the movements he had shown her. Her teeth bit down lightly upon his lip and he let out a low moan, almost a growl, the sound making excitement curl in her stomach. He pressed a trail of kisses to her shoulder and felt her respond with a little moan, light as a sigh that made every drop of blood in his body rush to his cock.

The robe fell open to her waist, her shoulders rolling as she slipped the fabric off and a flush rose to her cheeks as Jon’s eyes dragged down to look at her.

She was beautiful, so much so that for a moment Jon could so nothing but stare. Her waist was small and her stomach trembled with nervousness, a sheet of gooseflesh running down her skin. Her breasts stood at attention, her nipples having stiffened in the cold night air that shifted in through the window she had cracked to help dissipate the steam from her shower, and were now warmed by his breath as he kissed each of them.

His eyes fell to the thatch of smooth red curls at the meeting of her legs and the ache within him grew exponentially. Her blue eyes watched him lift his shirt over his head and toss it aside, the clench of muscle rippling against her fingers as she held his shoulders.

Curled in his lap Jon could feel Sansa shift as rose, holding her around the waist so she would not slip from his grasp. They did not break their kiss as Jon crossed to the bedroom, setting her down on the bed and lying beside her once he had undone his pants.

Sansa’s eyes widened as Jon pushed his pants down over his hips and his cock sprang free, firm and aching to be touched. Jon tried very hard not to grin at the look on her face, her eyes wide as she watched him, wondering how much bigger he was than Joffrey.

Sansa’s arms rose to envelop him once more in her embrace, the kisses she left upon his face so filled with sweetness that he could not hold in his grin any longer.

A puzzled expression crossed her face as Jon turned to lay a path of kisses across her thighs and Sansa flushed, realizing he would soon see the bout of heat and wetness that had risen between her thighs.

He nudged her legs gently apart. His mouth moved down the inside of her thigh, light as a feather against her pale skin, and moved down to the most private part of her. She gasped at the feeling of his mouth against her and Jon knew that she had never been touched here before.

Jon smiled, a motion she could feel much more than see, and kissed her, perhaps the most unfamiliar yet enjoyable kiss she had ever received. He propped her leg over his shoulder, her heel hitting his back.

“Jon.” She whispered, her voice hitching. He doubted he had ever seen her so beautiful as she was now, wild and wanton, a soft moan filtering from her parted lips, her hand reaching down to grasp his.

“Yes, sweet girl?” He said, his tongue moving in slight circles against her.

“It feels so… _oh_.” A moan rolled from her lips and the sound was sweet and soft enough to make any sane man mad.

The first orgasm they shared was certainly a memorable one, the man between her thighs wriggling deliciously and pulling a moan from her that she was sure half of the hotel could hear.

Sansa’s face was contorted in ecstasy, her hands closed to fists in the linen sheets and her eyes pressed closed, the blush that spread across her face making its way down her neck and chest and making her look lovely as ever.

She peeked open an eye to look at him as he leaned over her, his stomach filled with icy hot excitement that coursed through every inch of his body. Jon gave her a questioning glance and she nodded, her face only flushing further as she hooked her legs around his hips, her heels bouncing against the back of Jon’s thighs.

Jon’s head nuzzled quite comfortably in the crook of her neck between shoulder and cheek as he pushed into her slowly, deliciously slowly, his hot breath dancing off her neck and making a thrill run through her.

He could feel her fingernails digging into his shoulder as he pushed completely into her and she let out a little gasp, slowing his movements instantly for fear he was hurting her. “No.” she said, gasping again as he shifted. “It’s fine. It’s fine.”

His hand was large and hot as flame, curving around her back to guide her hips. She followed the pace he had set her hips rolling against his, her back arching in a soft curve that made him gasp, the sharp breaths she took seeming to match his own rhythm.

He kissed her again and her lips were hot and swollen, moving against his easily, between the gasps and moans they shared.

Sansa met her peak first, throwing her head back. She was caught so completely in the throes of pleasure that Jon was a fool to try and resist for much longer, his own orgasm swiftly approaching, the last jerk of his hips enough to make her gasp out his name. If he had not just spent himself the sound would have been enough to stiffen him again.

Jon gathered her into his arms as they lay beside each other in the bed and she kissed his nose softly, ignoring the fatigue that threatened to consume her. “I can’t believe we’re married.” She whispered, rolling over to rest her head against his chest.

Her eyes were fighting back fatigue and by the time he responded she was already fast asleep, smiling slightly when he kissed her brow, and missing the sweet words he whispered.


	14. Chapter Fourteen

_Chapter Fourteen_

_Jon_

Jon awoke lazily, stretching his arms to find no resistance, and when he opened his eyes he found the other side of the bed was empty. For a moment he was paralyzed by fear. The previous night Sansa had been so _hot_. So passionate that she might as well have been engulfed by flames. Just the memories were enough to make the knot in his stomach give.

He propped himself up on his elbow, his blurry eyes taking in the sight of the rest of the room. Sansa’s robe was lying over the end of a chair, Jon’s jeans and shirt tossed halfway across the room. One of his sneakers was on top of the desk. The other was hanging on the knob of the bedroom door.

His nose pricked, his eyes almost lolling back into his head at the delicious scent that wafted over to him. He could hear the clink of pots in the kitchen and pushed aside the blankets, only realizing than that he still bore the marks that were evidence of their love the previous night. His shoulder bore a faint trace of cuts from Sansa’s fingernails and the back of his neck was faintly bruised from where her arm had looped around his neck.

He smiled faintly to himself before anxiety turns its grips back upon him. They were married and yet Jon was still worried about whether or not Sansa truly had feelings for him. He felt a fool.

He stood, shimmying quickly into a pair of pyjama pants and a jumper, the gooseflesh that rose on his skin once out of the blankets showing that Sansa had the windows open.

Walking to the kitchen he became accustomed to the sound of blissfully horrid singing and knew the perpetrator was Sansa. She danced around the kitchen, picking up ingredients, stirring pots and bowls, pouring juices and waters, adding dashes of syrups and herbs. She looked so completely happy that for a moment Jon reconsidered his nerves.

She turned to face her and yelped in surprise, her sweet song breaking off. She dropped her spatula, spraying Yorkshire pudding batter across the floor. “You startled me.” she admitted, chagrined. She could not meet his eyes, her cheeks burning fiercely.

“Sorry.” He said, taking the cup of tea she offered. It was his favourite. He had not even needed to ask.

“Do you want black or Yorkshire pudding?” she asked over her shoulder, returning to her cooking at once.

“Black.” He said, drinking deep.

“It always was your colour.” She returned with a fond smile, laying a plate before him. She had crafted his bacon and eggs into a smiling face. She couldn’t be too mad at him could she? Not when her eggs smiled.

“Is it any good?” she asked, hopeful. “It’s not exactly how I wanted it to turn out.” Looking over her shoulder Jon could see she had already gone through half a loaf of bread, the discarded pieces blackened and hard, laying a top a few pieces of hardened egg. Jon chuckled, moving closer to her, his hand falling over hers on the head of the frying pan.

It was a charged moment. Sansa’s breath danced in a sigh, her other hand curving behind her to drape lazily around his neck. His arm wrapped around her middle, nuzzling close against her, his cheek pressing softly into her hair. She had already showered, her crimson hair slightly damp and darker than usual and she coloured again, a shade so dark her hair was put to shame.

His fingers traced the upper lace of her panties and as she shifted, traced her bare skin. “I’ll take this.” Jon whispered. “Relax, my bride.”

She did as she was told, turning quickly to press a soft kiss to his cheek. She still blushed, the look more than endearing, and making his heart flutter in his chest.

He finished cooking while Sansa sunk down on the couch, flicking through the channels until she found a marathon of spy movies. Balancing several plates on his arms he walked over to the coffee table and set them down, sitting back on the couch and watching as Sansa curled into his side, her icy feet pressed against his as her legs folded beneath her.

They ate together, sharing fried bread and spicy eggs and more bacon that he had caramelized with onions and chives. He had even managed to replicate the smiley face on her plate, adding another strand of bacon as a tongue sticking out.

“Wow.” Sansa said, holding a hand over her open mouth. “This is amazing, Jon. You should be a chef.”

“Only the best for you, my dear.” He said, leaning over to kiss her forehead. Half of him had been teasing, but the other half, the truer half, appreciated the look of pleasure that spread and settled over her face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter for now!


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

“What should we do for the rest of the day?” Jon asked. He lay on his back on the couch, Sansa’s leg looped lazily over his hip as she lay on the opposite direction, her head resting on her arm, both of them turned towards the telly that flickered with the bits of action that had piqued their interest for the majority of the afternoon. Jon’s fingers tickled the bottom of Sansa’s foot, his heart twisting in response to her soft giggles, his fingers tracing her red lacquered toes. “I was going to say we should go home but…” she watched as he wriggled his eyebrows. “We have the suite until tomorrow afternoon and my father is paying for the whole thing so…”

Sansa sat up, looking intrigued. She raised a manicured brow. “Oh? Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

Twenty minutes they were back in the massive bed the hotel had accommodated the room with, the pale blue comforter pushed down to their waists so their hands and arms were freed for motion. “Do you like that?” Jon asked, sneaking a look at his wife, his muffled voice deep and sultry.

Sansa let out a moan that made his toes curl. “Of gods yes.” She said. “These are the best lemon cakes I think I’ve ever had.”

The bed was covered from the foot of the bed to the headboard with plates and bowls and precariously balanced cups and wineglasses sloshing with wine and ale and crisp liquors. Jon had already unbuttoned his trousers to accompany all the food, Sansa had given up on pants entirely and sat only in her nightgown, the shoulder strap of the thin gown dipping down her pale shoulder.

Jon swallowed the last bit of lemon cake and licked his fingers clean before thinking better of it and offering his hand to Sansa. It had been am innocent gesture. At least that was what he told himself. But the moment her lips closed around his index finger it was anything but innocent. Her mouth was hot, her tongue curling around the tip of his finger to the base of it, where no lemon cake had dared travel, and as he watched her his mouth seemed to salivate far more than it had when a butler had wheeled in the second cart of desserts and presented him with sugar pies.

Sansa watched him with bated breath, trying to gauge his response. Had she gone too far? Had this truly been just an innocent gesture? She pulled back, opening her mouth to utter a quick apology but found her lips to be otherwise occupied.

Jon’s hand was firm on the back of her neck, holding her steady while guiding her head whichever way could deepen their kiss. Sansa looked at the bed but found it otherwise occupied and in a moment of boldness she pushed Jon gently backwards until their bodies tumbled onto the soft-carpeted floor, never breaking their kiss.

Jon laughed softly, brushing back her hair from her shoulder and grinning at his wife. “You’re lovely.” He whispered.

“Shut up and kiss me, you old fool.” She teased, crossing her arms over her stomach to lift her négligée over her head and toss is behind, the silk fabric joining the other discarded clothing from the night before.

An ever-dutiful husband, Jon obeyed her command. He felt her fingers pull at his shirt and push his pyjamas over his hips and he was reminded even more of the previous night when her cold hands pressed against his skin and made him jolt.

Her lips were on his neck, sucking just so as to make him let out a strangled gasp and she curled in his lap. His legs were pressed against the soft carpet, her arms and legs wrapped around him, her hips rising sharply the moment he pressed into her for the second time.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, noting her furrowed brow. Her back arched backward, his hands on her waist holding her steady and guiding her hips, though not at the moment- for he froze when he felt her gasp.

“No.” she lied. He gave her a look, frozen stiff, both literally and figuratively. “Well a bit. But it’s going away.”

He waited another moment before pushing even deeper into her and letting her grow accustomed to the feeling before he felt her hands press on his back, urging him forward. “Jon.” She whispered his name like a little sigh, a breath so light that it felt feather light on his cheek.

Her hot breath danced on his skin. His hand slipped down to her lower back, hot as flames and gently pushing her to and fro to follow the rhythm of his hips. Her breath retained the soft tang of lemon and it made his cheeks itch as they kissed, her tongue gliding gently across his bottom lip, ever the tease.

The tangle they had fallen in had upset the delicate balance of their food mattress and Jon could smell the acrid scent of wine and knew the glasses had toppled over but he could not care less, so focused on his crimson haired wife that the hotel could have caught flame and he would not have blinked.

Jon realized suddenly that yoga might be his favourite thing in the entire world, for when Sansa arched her back in the position he had seen his sister do upon the balcony each morning, it all felt so... _oh_.

He saw stars. Sansa snapped her hips up sharply and he let out a moan loud enough that anyone in the room beside theirs would surely know what they were doing. Her breasts pressed against his chest, her stomach rising and falling heavily in heaving breaths, her mouth thrown open in a perpetual gasp.

Jon dropped his head to lay a kiss on her shoulder, her skin soft as the silk négligée that he had nearly fainted upon seeing her in when she had shrugged out of her robe. When Sansa came she uttered his name, her breath hitching and her back arching in the same curve that made gooseflesh run down his skin, and he was not far behind her, the buck of her hips against his and the feel of her bare body pressed against his enough to send him over the edge into the chasm of pleasure that engulfed them both.

They rolled onto their sides on the carpet, somehow both sweating and shivering until Jon reached for the blanket thrown over the chaise and draped it over them. A moment of silence passed between them, Sansa’s leg looping through his as she rested her head on his chest, her body comfortably tucked under his arm. “I don’t know about you but I could eat again.”

He looked down at his wife, grinning. “I was just about to say the same thing.” Maybe there was something to that old wives tale that husbands and wives could reach each others minds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope it was worth the wait! I hope to update again soon.


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

They had awoken from their passion-induced nap on the carpeted floor hours ago and were milling about the suite, looking through brochures and menus and guides to try and find something to do for the night. Sansa had showered quickly and had returned to dressing in the thick cotton robe, the ends of her darkened red hair leaving streaks of wetness on the back of it.

A storm was brewing outside, the rain that slammed against the window filling the room with the pitter-patter of raindrops on glass. The sky had darkened from clear blue to as dark as a navy jumper, the clouds heavy and dark with rain, the thunder that rippled through the air making the glass on the windows rattle.

But it was perfect.

The darkness cast Jon in a glow that emphasized every defining angle of his face, every curve of hard muscle on his body, the way his eyes glowed like onyx beneath the flickering light of the fire he had just lit.

Sansa had gasped when he finished stacking the firewood and leaned forward to reach the striking match to the wood, the presence of old gasoline on the bricks making a fireball rise instantly. Jon had fallen backward and Sansa had gasped, dropping to her knees beside him and dragging him a few feet away. She had expected to find him burned or at least singed slightly, without eyebrows or with patchy facial hair. But all she found was a smile and a heart that swelled with love at the prospect that Sansa had rushed to his side when she thought he was in danger.

“We could make s’mores?” Sansa suggested. Her eyes skimmed down the list of foods they held in the downstairs shoppe. “And then maybe we can make s’more.”

Jon laughed at her joke and wrapped his arm around her shoulder, bringing her close to his chest in an embrace. “I love-“ he began, looking down at his wife. He kissed the top of her head. “S’mores.”

In truth he liked s’mores but was not sure if he loved them. But he was sure that he loved Sansa. He was very, very sure that he loved Sansa. But part of him was afraid she was still skeptical of this marriage- ploy of a marriage, more like.

“Me too.” She said. “I’ll call down for the stuff.”

A very short amount of time later the doorbell rang. Jon had gotten out of the shower himself and was dressed only in a loose towel around his waist and another in the hand he ran through his hair in hopes that the curls would dry faster. Sansa was out on the balcony and did not hear the piercing cry of the doorbell so Jon moved to answer it, expecting a bell boy but finding his sister and her husband.

“Well, well, well.” Daenerys said, looking him up and down. “I was going to ask how your night went but I think I can gather all the information I need.”

Robb looked caught between two sentences, one he was going to shout at his best friend for mauling his little sister, the other he was going to say with a smile as he congratulated Jon on his wedding, purposefully avoiding talk of the wedding night.

“Is it the s’mores?” Sansa asked, walking into the room from the balcony.

Her hair was sloppily braided, and Jon recognized his handiwork. While he had been sitting on the couch, Sansa between his knees on the floor, her back resting against the foot of the sofa, he had run his fingers through her crimson hair, feeling the beads of water run down his skin as he dried it carefully. He had commented on how beautiful it was, how beautiful _she_ was, and he had received a kiss on the cheek for his efforts.

“Can you braid it for me?” she had asked him, turning to look at him over her shoulder.

“I don’t know how.”

“I’ll teach you.” Her hands had dropped to his, softly tracing the calluses on his palms. And she had done just so, instructing him carefully as he twisted her hair between his fingers, only pulling too hard once and profusely apologizing for three consecutive minutes afterwards. They had both known the braid was the biggest mess that ever is or was and yet all Sansa had done was kiss him softly and thank him.

“What…is going on here?” the crimson haired girl asked, walking into the room and looking at the two newly arrived guests. “When did you get here?” she asked, kissing her brother and her best friend on the cheek.

“We just walked to check up on you.” Dany said. “Robb over here called you sixteen times with no answer.”

“I am a concerned brother.” He defended.

“And new husband. How was your own wedding night?” Jon asked.

“Not too much detail please, I don’t want to have to puke up my s’mores.” Sansa said quickly, walking to the door when the bell went of again. Half of her was skeptical that it might be her mother or father or half of her university dorm come to spy on her.

A half hour later they were cuddled close to the fireplace, marshmallows on skewers and a bag of different chocolates being shared between them- malteasers for Robb (who always liked the crunch) and pieces of Cadbury flake bars for the rest of them.

The storm worsened steadily, raging just outside the window until lightning flashed so bright it was nearly blinding and thunder struck loud enough to make them jump. But it seemed to wash away the awkwardness from the air and tension melted away to the friendship they had always possessed.

They are their s’mores and licked chocolate from fingers and marshmallows from noses after Dany had scared Robb and his face had gone down into his plate, coming up with chocolate covered cheeks and a marshmallow up his left nostril.

Hours bled away like seconds and conversation moved like the storm over their heads, continuing without drought.

The couch was long enough to house them all but just barely and they curled together like a kindle of kittens, a tangle of arms and legs and laughter as the telly flickered with images of _Four Weddings and A Funeral_.

It was one of the best days of Jon’s life. He looked at Sansa, her head curled on his chest and her arms wrapped around his waist, her embrace tight but not uncomfortable. Dany and Robb had been lulled into sleep by the storm and the mass of sugar their systems tried to process and they did not wake, even as the storm pillaged the hotel.

Jon’s fingers brushed through Sansa’s crimson hair, feeling it soft as silk against his skin. “I love you.” he whispered, his lips brushing the top of her ear faintly.

He had been sure she was asleep, the low rise and fall of her chest almost lolling him into sleep as well, but when he said the words he felt a slight shift in her body, felt a smile pull at her lips. “I love you too, Jon.” she whispered softly.

The other side of the couch chimed in. “We love you too, now bugger off.” Dany moaned, half asleep. Robb moaned loudly in agreement. Jon grinned, thinking his heart could just explode from all the love.


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen

Daenerys awoke with a splitting headache, the drinks they had shared the previous night seeming to finally catch up with her. As there was only one bed in the suite and it was currently being occupied by the newly wed bride and groom, she and Robb had spent the night on the sofa, cramped but still comfortable. In truth she had been glad to spend the night in Robb’s arms, her hair laid lightly on his chest, listening to the way his heart beat as his chest rose and fell.

Her husband was still sleeping when she awoke, sprawled on his back on the couch, loudly snoring. She stumbled, half blind, towards the bathroom, washing her face and trying to rouse herself into consciousness with the cold water. When Daenerys came back out she found the balcony doors were opened and, as she made to close them, found a figure sitting upon the cold stone.

“Sansa?” Dany called. “What are you doing out here?”

“Just thinking.” She said. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her chin resting upon them, her eyes overlooking the city as though from a tower.

“What about?” asked the silver haired girl, coming to sit beside her. It was not difficult to see her best friend’s discomfort.

“Everything is going to change now, isn’t it?”

Dany considered this, finally saying: “yes.”

“It’s not a bad thing, necessarily.” Said Sansa. “But they are going to be different now.”

She would move into Jon’s flat, as they had discussed. He had offered to move into hers but it seemed so small with just her and Dany and she could not imagine how it would be with Jon as well. It made sense really. But with the start of the new term and moving into a new flat and also…being married. It was all just different.

She had left the university with only thoughts of winter holidays and her birthday but now it was like she was leading a whole new life. “You should speak to Jon about it.” she conceded. Sansa had been anticipating this answer, knowing full well that it was the right one. She laid a hand on Sansa’s back, her fingers warm and heavy and comforting. “Speak of the devil.” Continued Dany.

Sansa turned around, finding the fingers that had quelled the storm inside her belonged not to Dany but to Jon. The younger Targaryen girl hovered near the door, giving Sansa a soft smile before slipping inside and pulling the balcony doors closed behind her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Jon asked, furrowing his brow and leaning his head to the side. He sank into the cushioned patio chair and looked down at her, chin jerking forward as offered her a seat in his lap. Sansa looked up at him. It was such a simple thing to say, so easy, but it held so much gravity, much like Jon himself.

“You know what…” said Sansa, reaching out to take his hand. “I love you.” She said, running her fingers over his hand, her index finger absently tracing the circular bone at the side of his wrist. His lips twitched, a hint of a smile forming. “This is completely foreign to me and I’m really scared, honestly. I’ve always liked to be in control of things but right now I feel like I’m just gliding along on a current. But I love you. And I know whatever happens we can face it together.”

Jon’s grin widened and he kneeled down before her, cupping her face in his hands. “You took the words right out of my mouth, love.”

Sansa leaned her cheek against his fingers, letting out a soft sigh to signal her pleasure. “And now I’ve freed it for other things.”

They kissed for so long that their fingers and toes began to grow frostbitten and tingly, Sansa’s shoulders shivering so completely that she looked to be in spasm. Jon swept her into his arms, scarcely breaking their kiss as he laid them down before the roaring fireplace Dany had just built.

“Get off my sister!” Robb half shouted from the couch, Dany curled under his arm like a silver kitten, her nose nuzzling against the underside of his jaw. “You may be my best friend mate but she’s still my sister.”

Jon pursed his lips, throwing Robb a pointed look. “And she’s my sister.” He pointed out. “And you’ve got your hand on her arse.”

With Robb silenced Jon looked pleased with himself, beginning to lament that soon they would be forced to vacate the suite. It was almost like waking up from a lovely dream and having to return to one’s perfect average life. Especially when that life was going to be placed under strict scrutiny by the royal family.

“Just think of it as an adventure.” He whispered in his wife’s ear, feeling her shiver in response to the sudden presence of his warm breath on her neck. “Uncharted territory. We’re like Nymeria coming to Dorne or Brandon the Builder.”

He could visibly see how his words calmed Sansa, pleasure spreading across her face like a blush. “An adventure.” She repeated. “I like that idea.”

“And Sansa was right.” Dany said, drawing their attention from across the room. “Whatever happens we can face it together.” A beat passed as Sansa gave her sister-in-law a stern look. “Yes, I was eavesdropping. But it was for a good cause, wasn’t it?”


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Sansa thought she might die of shame right then and there, unable to bear the way her family looked so knowingly at her, fully aware of the things she had done on her wedding night only a few days before. Jon had offered to walk her inside but she had declined, bidding he and Daenerys goodbye and leaving with her brother to ascend the stoop towards the Stark house.

She had not seen the cars. If she had seen the cars she would have run, the multitude of vehicles parked behind the house signifying that it was not only her mother and father that were home but nearly every Stark in Westeros.

As soon as she and Robb had walked through the door an eerie silence filtered through the house, staring with Lysa Tully and her son, no longer so little Robin in the parlour room to Brandon Stark in the kitchen. They all looked at her, the reddening of her face only making them more pleased.

Half of her was glad she had sent Jon home and spared him of the circus that would no doubt follow but the other half wished he were there to act as a buffer between her and the many Starks. At her side Robb looked at her and she felt his hand drop from his pockets to take hers, whisking her quickly away as the spell that had encompassed the house had broken and a plethora of voices rang out all at once.

“What are they all doing here?” Sansa asked Arya, the youngest Stark girl quickly pushing through the crowd to appear at her side.

“I don’t know.” She said. “Mum wasn’t able to get them to leave. Not until you came back. Everybody wanted to make sure that you…that you and Jon had…did… _shagged_.” She finally finished, ignoring the way Robb flustered at the word. Arya suddenly lowered her voice. “They were worried.”

“Worried?” Robb and Sansa replied in unison.

“About what the king said. About the law. That if you did not follow the consummation rule your marriage could be annulled and you could be wed to Joff.” She continued. “Brandon and Ashara volunteered to lie for you, Benjen and Arianne volunteered to kill Joffrey so you could not be wed to you. The offers of murder are bountiful in this house.”

Sansa let out a smile. She knew they meant well. She knew that they were only trying to protect her from the stupid law or shield her from punishment should she try to rebel against it. Her smile widened at the thought that if their roles were reversed and it was any of them she would have done the same thing.

“I have to go down.” Sansa said. “To thank them. But I’ve got to change first.”

Her siblings agreed and left her to her own devices, Robb turning the knob on her bedroom door until he heard it click as the lock slid in place. “You don’t have to stand out there.” Sansa called through the door. “Nobody is going to break in.”

“I’m not standing here.” Robb called back quickly, the lie in his voice muffled by the door

Sansa quickly shed the clothes she had brought with her in her wedding bag and pulled on a pair of jeans and a long sleeved shirt, pulling a jumper over her head as she walked through the door.

At once she was accosted by faces and she frowned, wishing she had left Robb to stand guard. “My love are you well?” asked Lyanna Stark, taking Sansa’s hand gently.

“I am, thank you.” Said Sansa, offering a quick embrace before being pulled into another conversation by Robin Arryn.

“Did you do it?” he asked, his pale face hovering below hers. “ _It_.” he emphasized.

Before Sansa could answer Robb ushered him away, only to make space for Lysa Arryn, who threw her arms around Sansa and pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace. “My dear girl.” She said. “Poor little thing. Forced into a marriage by a boorish king. Forced to prostitute herself for-“

“Lysa that’s quite enough.” Said Catelyn Stark, shooting a dirty look at her sister. “Please refrain from saying such awful things to my daughter in the future.”

Robb grinned proudly as Sansa was ushered away, all conversations staved off by her mother’s stern glare and the arm she had wrapped over her daughter’s shoulders, steering her through the crowd. Catelyn slammed the kitchen door closed behind her and nobody dared enter after the woman, her icy eyes cold enough to scare even the bravest and most daring of men.

But when she turned back to her daughter her eyes were filled with nothing but warmth and love, as were the arms that enveloped her in a grand, sweeping hug. “You are the bravest girl I’ve ever known.” She whispered, patting Sansa’s hair. “If I was your age I’m not sure I could have done what you did.”

“People are acting as though I’ve sighed up for a war.” Sansa said, voicing the thought that had been swimming around her mind since she had found out about the marriage law. “All I did was get married.”

“An arranged marriage.” Her mother pointed out. “To a man you do not love for a law that violates your human rights.”

Sansa considered this. “You’re half right.”

A smile broke out over Catelyn’s face that made her look ten years younger, the beauty of her mother so sharp and visible that Sansa was reminded of the stories her father used to tell of how he had to fight for Catelyn’s hand in marriage, for there were so many others who sought the same. “I am glad that you have some small comfort.” Said Catelyn. “Jon is a good man. If I didn’t think he was I never would have suggested it.”

Suddenly she looked much more serious, her smile fading at once. “And you have…followed the consummation rule.”

Sansa’s eyes dropped to look at the pattern of the tile as though it held any interest to her. “Yes.” She whispered, wishing this detail was not necessary to share with her mother.

“Good.” Catelyn said. “That will protect you from the queen. For now at least. No doubt she had servants in the hotel collect your sheets for…” Catelyn trialed off when she saw the look of horror on her daughters face. “I’m sorry that was not necessary. You should be enjoying your marriage and celebrating your wedding. I know that-“

There was a sudden spike of noise from outside of the kitchen and Benjen poked his head through the revolving door. “Cat. Come outside.”

There had been no questioning in his voice and both crimson haired women did as they were told, though Sansa immediately came to regret her decision. She let out a sigh, thinking this torment would not end.

“Good to see you, lovey.” Called the King, making his way towards her. Benjen looked desperately like he wanted to step in front of Sansa. Lysa looked like she was desperately enjoying the show of drama.

At his side Cersei gave a forced smile, her hair let down her shoulders like a cascade of gold. She was always beautiful, though the tightness of her smile and the haughtiness of her gaze made her seem far older and meaner. “I hope you have enjoyed your wedding.” She purred. The implication of her words seeped through the room.

King Robert leaned down to kiss her cheek, the rough stubble of his beard leaving a path of scratches on her soft cheek. Sansa dipped into a curtsy then, looking at her feet. She was tired, fatigue clawing at her eyes and throat, her mouth so dry that she had to lick her lips to keep them from cracking.

“We did not mean to interrupt.” Said the King. “We actually did not know you were having such a party.”

Sansa opened her mouth to respond but Catelyn overtook her, much to the relief of her daughter. “No party here, your grace. The family just wanted to assure Sansa received their gifts and well wishes. You know how it is on your wedding day, always being rushed this way or that. You never have a minute for anything.”

“Yes.” Sneered Cersei, her jaw working as she tried very hard not to grimace. “The life of a bride is a difficult one.”

Robert ignored her. “We only wished to stop by and give the lovely bride her wedding gift.”

“Oh, your grace. That’s not necessary!” Sansa said, genuinely surprised. This was one of the last things she had expected. Then again a week ago she would not have expected the revival of an ancient marriage law. She supposed she ought start getting used to surprises.

“Nonsense!” boomed Robert. “For the lovely bride I would give anything. While I am aware that you are in the midst of university and are unable to take a vacation at the moment I think it is absolutely necessary for every newlywed couple to have a honeymoon. Therefore I give you this-“ he handed her a thin envelope, but before she even made to open it the King informed her of its contents. “A trip to any place in the world that you desire. All expenses paid by myself of course. Wherever you desire to go you shall! Think not of anything but your pleasure.”

Sansa knew she should be happy. She should be ecstatic at the thought of traveling the world with Jon. But all she could think about was how the King’s tongue had rolled off his final word, a thick black eyebrow twitching as it was raised. He had looked so smug, so knowingly desiring to make her uncomfortable, subtly reminding everyone in the room of just what goes on during a honeymoon.

“Thank you, your grace.” Sansa curtsied. “And you, your grace.” She added, turning to curtsy to Cersei Baratheon as well. A flicker of surprise passed over the woman’s face. A flicker of disbelief followed. Sansa’s eyed flicked back to the King, wondering if she had to endure the King each day for the rest of her life if she might not turn out as bitter and cold Cersei had.


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

There was a screech as Jon turned the cold-water knob in the shower and stopped the stream of water that fell over him in the shower. He had managed to avoid his father when he entered the house, the elder Targaryen holed up in his office, the pitch of his voice signaling he was on the phone. Before that fact changed Dany and Jon had crept through the house to hid in their individual room, Jon running to the bathroom, half out of desire to shower and half out of an interest in avoiding whatever invasive questions he knew his father would ask.

Jon stepped out of the shower, pulling a towel off the rack and wrapping it around himself. He ran a hand through his wet hair, feeling the curls pull through his fingers and leave streaks of water on his palm. As he finished brushing his teeth he could hear his phone begin to sing in the other room and, recognizing the specialized ringtone Sansa had given herself, ran for it.

“Hey!” Jon greeted, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he dried his legs. An unconscious smile had forming on his lips at the sight of his wife’s name flashing across the surface of his phone.

“How are you?” she asked, her voice muffled by the phone. Vaguely he could hear the sounds of loud voices on the other end of the line and wondered where she was.

“Just got out of the shower. What about you?”

Jon could hear her give a short laugh. “It’s pretty wild over here. I think every Stark in Westeros is in my living room. At least ten of them have asked, and I quote, if I ‘did the deed’ or if I ‘got it done.’” She said.

“And what did you say?” Jon asked, curious.

Another laugh. “That my new husband gave me pleasure that took me to the highest cliffs of the Dornish mountains.”

It was Jon’s turn to laugh now. “I would love to see the look on your father’s face if you did.”

“I don’t think you would.” Said Sansa. “Because the next thing you would see was Benjen’s fist coming right at your face.”

A moment of silence passed between them. the voices continued on Sansa’s end. Jon continued to dry himself, slipping on a pair of pyjama pants and tying the laces into a knot at his waist. “I miss you.” Professed Jon. “It feels weird…knowing we’re married.”

“I know…” She replied. The voices spiked again. Jon wondered where she was before realizing that she was probably hiding from her family. Last time he had seen her at a family party he had walked in on her and Arya hiding from their aunt Lysa in the clawfoot bathtub. What a sight that had been. “It sort of feels like I’m out but I left something valuable at home.”

“So I’m valuable.” Jon teased, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. “What sort of valuable? Like a wallet or like a pair of diamond earrings?”

There was a short pause and Sansa said, “I was thinking more like a pearl necklace.”

Jon gasped audibly; his jaw dropping so far down that it began to cramp. “Lady Stark you saucy minx.” He said, chuckling so hard that he nearly dropped the phone. “I never thought I would hear something so dirty from you. It seems marriage is agreeing with you.”

“I could say the same thing about you. I doubt I’ve ever seen you so happy. I’ve gotten so used to the brooding, boy band type Jon. I’m actually starting to miss him.”

“Well I’m going to become moody and brooding again if I don’t see you soon.” He said. Sansa’s stomach tightened, a pleasant warmth spreading through her and settling in her body comfortably.

“Will you come over tomorrow?” Sansa asked. There was a hint of hope in her voice and it made butterflies flutter in Jon’s stomach. “I thought we could get breakfast or…something.”

Her awkwardness was endearing and Jon felt himself smile again. “I would love that.” Jon said. They were only home for a few more days and Jon had been meaning to head over to Hot Pie’s since he had driven home, dreaming about the teacakes for months.

In truth he was waiting for the day that they would return to the university. He ached to see her, ached to kiss her and touch her and tell her once more that he loved her. He knew he must look like a fool, smiling away at nothing. If Dany were to enter right now she would never let him live it down, asking him if he was enjoying his honeymoon. But perhaps that wasn’t such a bad thing. Perhaps if it were their honeymoon they would never leave it. What a lovely thing that would be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a short chapter for now. I hope you guys are enjoying it!


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Jon looked at his wife as she sat opposite him at the table, her canary yellow coat laid over the back of the plush chair, a pale hand reaching up to brush a strand of crimson hair from her face. Her eyes were slipping back and forth across the menu, her nose crinkling as she tried to choose something to eat.

Even in something so ordinary she was beautiful, growing even more so as her eyes flicked up to find him watching her, a deep blush colouring her cheeks and even moving down the base of her neck to disappear below the collar of her lace shirt.

“Stop looking at me.” she said, turning back to her menu. “At least not until you decide what to eat. I’m starving.”

“I was thinking about the steak and rice plate.” she said. Jon uncrossed his legs and trying to ignore the jolt of electricity that ran through him.

“That sounds good.” Said Jon, letting out a small sight that made Sansa feel as though her insides had turned to liquid. “Want to split it? We can get something else as well.”

Sansa’s foot traced the outline of his calf, her toes following the swell of muscle from his ankle to his knee and just a bit more, high enough to make his eyes follow her movements, suddenly hyper aware of the way every bone in his body seemed to be singing.

“What about this?” he continued, taking a swallow of wine to wet his dry throat.

“Looks good.” She accepted.

They were almost alone in the restaurant at this time of day, only three other people in the room besides them, though the back of their chairs hid them from view. There was a soft whisper of music filtering through the speaker in the restaurant and two tables away from them a fire blazed in the mantle, its crackle and pop barely audible over their voices. It was meant to be peaceful and yet, sitting across from Sansa, it felt like every bone in his body was tightened with anxiety and lust.

Sansa’s blue eyes fell to the stem of the glass before rising to meet his again. “Do you want some?” he invited, holding out the glass towards her. She said nothing, her bottom lip parting as she took the glass, her cold fingers brushing purposefully against his.

Jon watched the way her throat bobbed as she swallowed, a ruby of wine dropping from the corner of her lips to fall down her chin, leaving a streak of redness against her creamy skin. Jon’s finger unconsciously rose to catch it before it stained her pretty white shirt. Sansa could feel the rough pad of his thumb rub it away before migrating east to drag across the cushion of her lip.

He leaned forward to kiss her, leaning across the table, not caring if he spilled his wine or forced every dish from the table. Jon had to reach her. Had to take her in his arms and kiss her until both of their lips were swollen and tender and then kiss her again.

Sansa cursed the waitress for interrupting them but thanked the woman nevertheless for refilling their drinks and bringing out their food, lying it on the table before them. Staring down at the steaming plates Sansa could not care less about them, finding interest in every crevice and spot of Jon’s face instead. Perhaps the consummation rule would not be so difficult to complete after all.

Smiling to herself Sansa remembered the years she had spent with Margaery and Dany, listening to the hijynx they got themselves into or the wild sexual stories they had had. Looking over at her husband, quietly picking through his salad, his reading glasses perched at the edge of his nose, Sansa resolved that it was about time that she had a wild sex story of her own.

She slipped her hand out of her leather glove and lifted it gently before setting it in Jon’s lap. Their chairs were pulled beside each other at the table, a result of their kissing, and she was able to reach out comfortably.

Her husband jumped, the rice that had been perched upon his fork going flying across the room, and his eyes bulged as he looked between her and his lap. “What are you-“

She silenced him with a jerk of her hand. He gaped at her, clearly conflicted, caught between willfulness and suspicion. He looked around, glad that they were sat so far away from the other occupants, and seemed to accept this scenario, leaning back in his chair and abandoning his fork.

Her hand dared not dip below the band of his jeans for fear of being discovered but found that the tight pants he so often wore were to the advantage of both. It was almost as though she was touching his bare skin, her warm hand felt through the thin layer of denim and flannel pants and all the way to him.

She gave a tight squeeze. Jon’s eyes rolled back in his head and he coughed, trying desperately to act naturally when the sound turned the head of the waitress at the bar.

Opening his eyes just a crack Jon was captivated with the way her eyes glinted like a light running down the edge of a blade, a mix of mischievous and lustful. Almost predatory. It sent a thrill through him, hot as fire.

Jon felt green and uncivilized to realize that he was very close to reaching his peak, the firmness of her grasp and the set of her gaze and the boldness of the encounter making it very hard to summon the strength to resist her.

It was the quietest he had ever been, gritting his teeth so tightly that he thought he might break his jaw. His hands had closed into fists upon the rests of the armchair. His eyes pressed tightly closed, the creases in his brow visible as his glasses drooped down the bridge of his nose.

He came with a sudden, wracking sigh, a shiver that started at the base of his cock running down the length of his body. Sansa’s hand lifted to dance up his side, eliciting another shiver, until she moved all the way up to cup his cheek, Jon leaning resting the weight of his face in her soft palm. She kissed him so deeply that he was taken off guard for a moment, suddenly feeling like he was a teenager again, receiving his first kiss. He wondered if he had looked as foolish then as he did not.

“It seems the wine has made you bold.” breathed Jon, his voice hoarse.

Sansa’s eyes glinted. “I guess I’ll have to drink more often then.”

They paid their tab and left the restaurant wrapped in each others arms, both worrying that their lunchtime antics were marked clearly on their faces, Jon worried that his was marked clearly in other areas.

Sansa shivered, wrapping herself tighter in her coat and struggling to replace her gloves on her pale fingers, gratefully accepting Jon’s help in completing the task. “Thank you.” Sansa said, her breath coming out like a gasp of smoky air. “If I had known marriage was this fun I would have done it ages ago.”

“Very funny.” Jon teased, wrapping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her to him. He pressed a kiss to her temple, reaching in his pocket in a struggle for his keys.

All at once Sansa let out a shocked gasp and a flash of lightning blinded him. He stumbled, his booted foot having come down upon a patch of pale ice, and he slipped, loosing his grip upon his wife. When he reached for her she had gone, his hand grasping at nothingness. Several bolts of lightning overcame him and as he called his wife’s name a roar overwhelmed the words.

“Jon!” he could hear his name being called, Sansa’s voice sounding far away and frightened. “I can’t-“

He barely regained his sight, spotting a flash of crimson as his wife reached for his hand, pulling him towards her. “What’s going on?” he shouted, confused, angry, belligerent.

More figures were coming into focus, dark, ominous outlines of beings he did not recognize. And then all at once he realized. _Photographers_.

Over the flash of cameras he could see logos on barely visible t-shirts or upon the edge of microphones that were being held out towards them. They were being asked questions, the voices all jumbling together into an amalgam of shouting. Sansa was pinned to his chest, her hands closing around the lapels of his coat quickly.

He had only ever been so accosted twice before. Once, after his father had been accepted onto the King’s Small Council and again when Viserys had eloped with the Doreah- and annulled the marriage six days later. He had been with bodyguards then, his father or mother having anticipated the need for them. But now they were all alone, drowning in a sea of white camera flashes and men shouting things that made the hairs on the back of his neck curl.

Sansa buried her face in his coat and he tightened his grip on her, not caring what he looked like, not caring what they were saying. He focused only on getting them both to the car parked only a few feet away.

He pushed through the crowd, gripping Sansa with one arm, the other held out in front of him, forcing away any encroaching photographer. “Jon!” Sansa screamed suddenly. He could not see a thing, so blinded by the lights that he had no idea why she was screaming. “Stop!”

Her hands were at his neck, pulling him so sharply backwards that he fell, her body trapped under his as they fell. She let out another scream as he collided with her, his elbow striking her stomach hard enough to knock the air out of her, and she cradled him, her hair falling in front of her face to shield her crying eyes from view.

“You almost walked into the street.” She whispered, her lips besides his ear. He was dizzy, holding his head and holding her and holding the purse she had dropped and holding in his fury. “There was a car Jon- you almost…”

There was a sudden shrill ring of a siren and the camera flashes dwindled before disappearing all together, the screaming going right along with it. Sansa’s face was red and tear stained, buried in his shoulder, her legs pinned beneath him, her arms cradling his head for fear he was injured.

“Sansa are you all right?” came a voice. “Should I call an ambulance? Jon? Sansa? Can you speak?”

“Yes.” Sansa managed to reply hoarsely. Jon could see a hand was hovering in front of him and took it graciously, standing to realize suddenly that he had come face to face with his uncle. Oberyn looked as furious as Jon felt, his copper cheeks gone ruddy, his jaw clenched so tightly Jon could see the flex of muscle in his cheek.

Oberyn bent low to help Sansa to her feet, helping her dust off her dirty trousers. She looked dazed, her face red and tears still falling from her eyes.

“Vultures.” Said Oberyn, commenting on the photographers. “They were all from gossip magazines, no doubt. Someone must have called them to tell them you were here.”

Vaguely Sansa remembered the waitress giving them strange looks. She had known that their marriage was well publicized but she had no idea it was to this extent. It made sense, really. He was the son of King Robert’s closest advisor; she was the daughter of his closest friend. But she had never been that close to gossip photographers before. She had never been that scared before. When she had seen Jon stumble into the street…

“Come on, love.” Oberyn said, offering his hand. “Let’s get you two home.” Sansa smiled, thinking she had never been so relieved in her life.


	21. Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-One

It was mere hours when the alert on Jon’s phone sounded, the message on the home screen reading, “Lovers Quarrel? Targaryen Newlyweds On the Rocks” from Westeros Weekly. There was an attached photo of Sansa grabbing Jon’s collar and shouting for him to stop walking. The magazine had Photoshopped away the other photographers and the car that had come careening towards him and doctored the photo to make it look like Sansa was simply beating him for the sake of hurting him.

Not long after another message came through, this time from Highgarden Fashion. Their photo was of Jon and Sansa lying on the ground, arms and legs twisted, Sansa’s face hidden. The headline was, “Newlyweds Attacked in Front of Prestigious Café.”

Jon hated them all.

He looked out at his wife as she sat in the center of a hospital bed, her legs crossed, her injured arm propped up on a pillow that the nurse had given her. She looked so small, like an injured bird, her big blue eyes purposefully ignoring the headlines that buzzed on her phone as well.

“What does this one say?” Sansa asked. She had heard Jon’s phone as it vibrated against the table he had slammed it down upon after reading the last headline.

“’Star-crossed Lovers Ambushed In Front of Prestigious Café.’” Replied Jon.

Sansa chuckled. “I didn’t even know we were star-crossed.” She said. “I guess you learn something new every day.”

Samwell Tarly opened the curtain to the room and stepped inside. “Sorry to interrupt.” He smiled. “The doctor should be right- op! There she is.”

Ashara Dayne swept into the room and went immediately to Sansa’s side, her eyes welling with tears, her brows furrowed. “What happened?” she demanded. “Oberyn called me and I thought? What happened?”

“Photographers.” Jon muttered. “They were just there. all of a sudden. Out of nowhere, all around us…”

“We couldn’t see.” Sansa continued. “I was so scared I thought that Jon…there was a car…it almost hit him.” she tried to sit up but flinched as she did so, the pain of her broken arm making her brows furrow deeply.

Ashara looked over her. “Bloody bastards.” She muttered, fishing around in her file for the x-rays that had just been taken. “Well your arm is unfortunately broken in two places. I will need to place a splint and a cast.” Sansa nodded. “I did not call your mother, although she might kill me for it. So you should call her before she-“

Sansa’s phone rang. “Speak of the devil.” She said, looking at Doctor Dayne and giving her an apologetic look. “Sorry, I’ve got to answer it or she’ll worry?”

As soon as she hit the button that started to call the entire room was filled with the sound of Catelyn Stark’s shouting. “Sansa are you alright?” she demanded. “Is Jon alright? Those photos were awful. What happened? I called Oberyn but he didn’t answer. Should I call Ashara? Is she working today? Do you need to go to the hospital? Those photos looked horrid-“

“Mum!” Sansa interrupted. Samwell looked purposefully away, pretending he could not hear. Ashara busied herself with tending to the cut on Jon’s head. Jon squeezed Sansa’s hand. “Do not panic but I’m at the hospital with-“

Catelyn screamed. “Hospital?” she repeated. “Which hospital? Is Ashara there? Is Oberyn there? You didn’t tell me if Jon is okay-“

“I’m fine, Mrs. Stark.” Jon called, taking the phone as Sansa offered it, sitting back on the hospital bed. “Ashara is here. She’s about to place a splint. Sansa’s arm is broken, in the fall I think.”

“Should I come over there? Should I call your father, Jon? I think he is with the King today.” Catelyn continued. Sansa smiled, knowing her mother only babbled when she was nervous or afraid, emotions she was probably feeling in excess at the moment.

“No, mum!” Sansa replied, flushing with embarrassment when she realized everyone in the room was watching her. “I’ll be home soon. I’ve got to go, we’re being rude to Ashara.”

“Oh I’m fine-“ Ashara began, stopping once Sansa shot her a dirty look. “Yes, Cat. I’ve got to place the cast now. Got to go, ta!”

Jon let out a sigh when she hung up the phone and Ashara grinned, “I can’t imagine what your mother must have said to those magazine editors. I’m sure she’s called them all already.” Said she. “I am sure she’s enlisted Benjen’s help to egg their offices or throw bricks through their car windows or something.”

She continued, typing in the code to the drawer of the supply bin until it popped open. “For the cast. Any specific colour you would like?” asked Ashara. She placed a basket of supplies on the table, fanning out the different coloured wrappings so Sansa could see them. “Maybe red, to match your hair? Or blue to match your eyes? I could do-“ she fished around a bit more. “White with red hearts? Got these last year for a little girl who broke her arm falling off a swing.”

“I like blue.” Said Sansa.

“Blue it is then.” Ashara said, smiling. “You’ll be out of here in no time. And if you’re really in pain I can give you a bit of morphine, you’ll be happier than a kid in a candy store.”

“No morphine for me.” Sansa laughed. “Just want to get back home and away from these awful headlines.”

“Another one has come up?” asked Samwell.

“Try three more.” Said Sansa, rolling her eyes.

‘Son of King’s Advisor Protects Wife On City Street’ said one magazine. Another headline read, ‘Daughter of King’s Hand Takes Deadly Fall,’ and another, even more annoying one said, ‘Daughter of Winterfell Takes Winter Fall Outside Shoppe.’ And the more time passed the more articles were published, the more photographs circled the Internet, the more tweets and retweets they racked up. It made Sansa feel nauseated.

On the bottom of Sansa’s cast Ashara placed a thin metal bar so it would not move inside the cast and after only twenty minutes they were packed up and ready to go, all the paperwork filled out- with Sansa’s free hand- all the stitches placed and the casts wrapped and three more calls from Catelyn, they were finally ready to leave.

Oberyn offered to drive them home but Jon declined, having called a town car while they were waiting. He had worried that more photographers would be waiting for them but was pleased to find the streets clear.

“I’m sorry.” Jon whispered, looking out the window at the passing landscape as it flew passed the car. “I should have protected you. I should have done something but all I did was fall on you.” He said. “I swear the next article is going to read, ‘Advisor’s Son Needs Advising On How To Walk And Not Crush Wife.”

“Jon-“ interrupted Sansa.

“-I mean really? I had to fall on top of you. I couldn’t have worn more appropriate winter boots. I had to wear the-“

“Jon!” Sansa half shouted. “Stop it.” she ordered, taking his face in her hands. Her thumb ran across his cheek. “Stop it now. I love you.” She insisted. “I love you, I won’t let you think this is your fault because it’s not. It was no ones fault except the photographers and the person that called them.”

Jon looked up at her. His dark eyes searched her face, flickering briefly to her lips before he closed the space between them, kissing her so passionately that his seatbelt snapped against his chest as he moved forward. He could feel her smile against his lips, her cast bumping against his neck as she wrapped them around him. It only made him smile, the addition of the weight of her cast making her normally steady movements clumsy and uncertain.

The landscape outside the window had shaded solidly to black, the rustle of the trees signaling a soft rain had started to fall upon them. The heavily clouded sky hid the moon from view and besides the street lamps the weak white glow was the only source of light, casting the side of Sansa’s face eerily. “I love you too.” said Jon, pulling away from her just briefly enough to whisper the words to her before she consumed his lips once more.

There was still a week before they were due to return to their university flat and suddenly Sansa wished she could snap her fingers and pass the time more quickly, desiring nothing more than to lay in bed with Jon and kiss him all night and then wake up and repeat the action.

She leaned her face against his hand, feeling his fingers splay out across her cheek, her little finger brushing against the bandage Ashara had wrapped after placing his stitches. His curls sprung through her fingers as she ran a hand through his hair, pressing a kiss to his forehead before the seatbelt held her back. He grinned at her, blinking up at her through dark lashes. “I want to-“

Sansa’s phone rang, the sound loud and surprising enough to make them both jump. Sansa smiled sympathetically and motioned that she had to answer, her father’s name flashing across the screen. “Probably just wants to check on us.” Sansa muttered, hitting the green button on the phone and watching as the screen lit up. “Hello, dad.” She greeted. “Dad?” she said. “Dad what-“

The fingers that had skated up the length of Jon’s thigh to take his hand tightened, her nails biting into his skin. “Sansa.” Said her father’s voice, so firmly that it gave her pause. She held the phone a bit apart from her ear so he was able to hear Eddard as well.

Her face drained of colour, her lips parting, though no sound came out. Her father continued, “Come home now. It’s…just come home. Right now. It’s about Robb.”


	22. Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Two

When Sansa came into the house she was so completely reminded of the moment her parents had first told her of the marriage law that she was taken aback by it, feeling so completely enveloped in déjà vu that she paused in the doorway, causing Jon to run into her.

“What is it?” he asked, looking concerned.

“Something is wrong.” She whispered. “Something isn’t right. I can feel it. It feels like-”

“Sansa!” Arya said, coming around the corner. She was wearing her pyjamas, looking as though she had just been pulled out of bed, her dark hair disheveled and her brow so firmly furrowed it was a wonder she did not have a head ache. She took in Sansa’s arm, Jon’s forehead, the paleness of their faces. “Are you-“

“Is Robb alright?” interrupted the crimson haired girl. “Dad called and he said-“

The colour washed out of Arya’s face. “He didn’t tell you?” she said. However possible her brow furrowed even more.

“Arya please, just say it. I am imagining all the worst possible things right now. Whatever it is please just tell me.” tears were welling in her eyes, the sound of blood rushing in her ears almost deafening. She wasn’t sure when Jon had taken her hand but he squeezed it now.

“Robb and Dany. Their marriage. The King annulled it.” she said. “He said Robb missed the window. The two weeks passed.” She shook her head. “And now…the King is well within his rights to choose a betrothed, or that’s what he said anything.”

Sansa’s mouth fell agape. “That’s impossible. We were there we saw them get married. How can he say that?”

“The Septon is gone.” said Eddard Stark, striding into the room. He mopped at his face with his pocket square, looking morbid. “It’s your word against his. I tried to talk him out of it but there was nothing to be done. Once the king gets an idea in his head-”

“Do you mean once the queen puts an idea in his head?” Arya said hotly.

“Regardless.” Said Eddard. “Robb’s marriage has been annulled.”

“But he…” Sansa lowered her voice, as though she was afraid someone might hear. “They…shagged. Jon and I were there. Well not there!” she added quickly. “We were near. Um…adjoining rooms. Though the walls I mean. Not that Robb was loud. Not that he was quiet either!” Digging herself deeper into the hole she had built Sansa stopped talking.

Jon looked like he might laugh if the situation was not so dire. “What she means is that the marriage cannot be annulled because it was consummated. The King would have to usher a divorce, which he has also ruled is illegal.”

“So I suggested.” Continued Eddard, his pale face grim. Sansa wondered where Robb had gone. She figured to call Dany, or to the secret place that he had gone to as a child after getting in fights in the schoolyard. “Yet again the King claims that there was no one present.”

“This is unbelievable.” Arya shouted. “Is it going to revert back to medieval times now?” she demanded to know. “Are we going to have a crowd of courtly people watching every consummation to make sure the man’s pe-“

“Arya!” her mother shouted in horror. She too had come into the room to stand beside Sansa, the entryway of the house seeming so small that it might swallow her. She could not breathe, the cast on her arm seeming to weight a thousand pounds. Her face flushed. She could not swallow. Her breath felt like it was stuck in her lungs. The room spun.

“Sansa?” Jon asked. Her hand had gone slack in his.

“Sansa?” her mother asked.

The voices were swimming around her like ghosts, her watery eyes unable to distinct between them. “San?” she could hear Arya. She could hear her father, her mother, her husband.

There came a pounding of feet and the slam of a door as it struck a wall. A bell sounded. More footsteps. “It’s an asthma attack.” Sansa could hear Robb’s voice. “She can’t breathe. Where is the inhaler?”

Sansa’s choking continued. Her heart felt like it was frozen in her chest. Her feet gave out from under her and she slipped onto the wooden floors, the carpeting burning her knee as she slid.

“She never gets attacks anymore.” Her mother said, hovering worriedly. “Not since…” she trailed off. She couldn’t say the words, but the room heard them nonetheless. _Since Joffrey_.

Arya tore threw her purse, her shaking hands causing things to fall out and scatter across the floor. Carefully Jon took it from her, opening to smallest pocket to find the little white inhaler. He could have smiled to himself. It was the same one she had used when she was a kid. They had all make little doodles on it, Margaery’s hearts, Robb’s wolves, Dany’s lightning bolt. He could even recognize the little marks he had made.

“Come on Sansa.” Her father whispered, taking the inhaler Jon offered and holding it to her mouth. The room went silent, waiting with bated breath for the click of the inhaler and the sharp, sputtering gasp she soon took.

She sat forward, the rise and fall of her chest sharp and rapid, her eyes staring at her feet. She had lost one of her shoes when she fell, her toes wriggling in the cold winter air that had filtered into the house through the open window. “It’s not going to work.” She whispered. Arya kneeled at her side, Robb at her other. Jon felt his heart seize in his chest. “It’s not going to…whatever we do the King can just take it all back. He can just say that it didn’t happen. No matter what we do…”

“Sansa, everything will be okay.” Her mother whispered, pressing her lips down on Sansa’s limp hand.

“I’m tired.” Sansa whispered. The clock read only half-seven. “I just want to go to bed.”

She ascended the stairs to her bedroom with little resistance and he watched her go, her broken arm bumping lightly against the spokes of the banister as she walked. She paused, looking over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his.

“Mr. and Mrs. Stark, do you mind if I-“ he gestured towards the stairs.

Eddard smiled. “You need not ask, Jon. You are married now.”

Jon started up the stairs, the cut on his brow suddenly beginning to throb from the stress of the day, and stopped on the third step. He looked over his shoulder at Robb and Arya, left standing in the middle of the atrium after their parents had gone back to Eddard’s study in a cloud of lowered voices. “You two,” said Jon, turning back to his closest friends. “Arya, grab all the snacks in the refrigerator, Robb, you choose the movies. Nothing serious, for the love of the Gods.”

Robb left to do as he was told and Jon whispered to Arya, lowering his voice so the elder Stark’s could not hear. “Get the liquor.” He breathed. “Get _all_ the liquor.” Emphasized Jon, smiling. “Our people need cheering up.”


	23. Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Three

“You’re sitting on my foot!” Arya protested, letting out a grunt. “And you-“ she sat up to slap Jon in the arm. “That is my kneecap!”

“Last time we were in this bed we all fit.” Said Robb.

Sansa rolled her eyes playfully. “The last time we were all in this bed, we were twelve.”

Arya rolled on her back. She was lying with her head at the foot of the bed, her feet struggling not to smack Jon or Robb in the face. Dany was beside her, lying on her side, nuzzled so close that Arya swore she could feel Dany’s heart beating against her chest. At the head of the bed Sansa, Robb, and Jon were cramped together like canned sardines in brine. The rest of the bed was occupied with wrappers and empty bottles of half eaten foods, plastic baggies, cardboard boxes, jars of jams and butters. It was obscene really.

Dany had already eaten one small bag of marshmallows and was working on another, claiming that as long as she ate them while she was angry that her anger burned all the calories. “I just can’t. I can’t believe…I hate him. I hate all of them.”

“So do I.” Arya added, reaching over her stomach to steal a marshmallow. “Do we have chocolate?”

“Cadbury?” asked Jon, offering her the bag. Last time he had been upset Jon had eaten four bags of Cadbury mini chocolate creams, which he claimed were the only cure for sadness- and hangovers- in Westeros.

“We could run away.” Sansa mused, licking her fingers. She leaned her head on her brother’s shoulder. “We could all run away. Just in the middle of the night steal away. Grab our computers and our suitcases and our parents and just go.”

“Oberyn would take us to Dorne.” Said Jon. “He’s going back for the summer.”

“I’ve always wanted to see the beaches.” Added Robb. “I hear the women are beautiful. Now that my marriage is over, after all.”

Dany swatted at him. “You won’t be rid of me that easily.”

Arya sat up quickly enough to startle her sister. “We could go. I mean they have secondary schools and Universities there. They have places dad can work and mom can teach. It doesn’t snow but…” she trailed off, her eyes welling. “We can’t run away.”

“No.” said Robb. He took a swig of vodka straight from the bottle and gritted his teeth in response, chasing the liquor with three marshmallows and a handful of salt and vinegar potato chips.

Arya continued. “We can’t stage a coup.”

“No.”

“Or do anything. We just have to take it. Just take it all with a smile on our faces. Pretending nothing is wrong.” Arya said, turning on her stomach so the soft pillow she lay upon muffling her voice.

Sansa nodded. “We can’t feel sorry for ourselves.” She said, licking the remaining peanut butter off her spoon. “We just have to…hope.”

“Hope.” Scoffed Arya. “When has that ever worked-“ she stopped short when she saw their faces, gaunt, pale, staring off into the distance like they were searching for the hope they so desperately sought. “You know what. No.” she said, standing up. Her foot got caught in the blanket and pulled it completely off, all the bottles and jars and bags falling onto the floor. “No. This isn’t us. What does dad say?”

Nobody spoke. “What does dad say?” she repeated, half shouting. “The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

“Look.” She said. Four faces looked back at her, a mixture of appreciation, intrigue, and interest on their faces. “We have each other. You have Jon,” she said to Sansa. “And you have Dany. And we have each other. So stop it. You are all being over dramatic and I’m sick of it. We’ve all had our fill of drinks and sugar and we’ve eaten so much our stomachs will probably fall out soon so that’s just enough. I’m putting my foot down.”

A moment of silence passed between them. “Though she be but little she is fierce.” Robb murmured. Perhaps it was the liquor or perhaps it was the chocolate or perhaps it was the though that if they were not laughing they would be crying, but the group soon dissolved in a fit of giggles.

“There’s something else.” Robb said after the laughter had died down. “I didn’t want dad to tell you but its time. I’d rather you find out now rather than later.”

Sansa’s crimson brows furrowed. “What is it?”

“The King annulled the marriage for a reason. He wants me to marry his daughter.”

Arya’s face drained of colour. “I don’t understand. Why? You’ve never even spoken to her before.”

Dany had turned to lay on her side, her hand reaching out to grip Robb’s hands. She offered a sad smile, looking so melancholy that she might as well be nursing the bottle of vodka in her arms. “It’s not exactly torture.” She whispered. “You could do much worse. She could be like Joffrey.”

“I am not going to marry Myrcella and Sansa is not going to marry Joffrey.” Robb said. “I don’t care if father or Rhaegar can’t do anything. We are adults now. We can’t let this happen. We protect each other. The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”

Sansa smiled at her brother. She nodded, repeating. “The lone wolf dies but the pack survives.”


	24. Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Four

A week passed before there was news from the King. It was the day before Christmas, a fact that was keeping them so busy there was not time to think about the King’s new let alone the King. Catelyn had asked them to split up into different groups so they would be able to traipse around town and get all their errands done all the easier.

Sansa, Arya, and Jon were tasked with going to the grocery store. At first it had sounded to be the easiest and least stressful of all the tasks but the moment they got to the supermarket they realized what a mistake they had made. The normally unoccupied aisles were bustling with rude, angry shoppers, who elbowed their way through the rows or shouted over the dull sound of the Christmas carols on the radio. It was a nightmare.

“Don’t leave.” Sansa said, pulling back Jon and Arya as they made to walk it opposite directions. “If we get separated I don’t think we will ever see each other again.”

Jon laughed but agreed nonetheless. “Where is the shopping list?”

Arya unfurled it from her pocket and as the page dropped open so did her jaw. “She needs all these things?” she said, her eyes scanning the list. “’Meereenese radishes?’” she read. “Why does she need Meereenese radishes?”

“I don’t know but after how much she was screaming at the florist when we left I do not want to show up without them.”

Jon was pushed aside by a woman with three shopping carts, one of the wheels running over his foot as he passed. “Okay, we can start with the fruits and vegetables. Let’s really try not to get separated. These people are-“ he lowered his voice. “Major grinches.”

“Why did you lower your voice for that?” chided Arya.

“Come on.” Sansa laughed, pulling them in tow. They delved into the midst of the crowd, baskets in hand, piling them high with potatoes, carrots, Meereenese radishes, herbs, berries, and fruits. Then they moved on to the more difficult things, trying to get the turkey and ham that Catelyn had pre-ordered only to find a woman tried to steal the quails right out of Sansa’s hands. Jon and Arya turned around for seconds to put the other ingredients into the cart and had turned back to find Sansa wrestling with a woman.

“What the hells?” Jon yelled over the noise of the market. “What’s going on?”

“She stole my quail!” Sansa shouted. She looked on the verge of knocking the woman over the head with her cast. “Get off of me!” she screamed.

As Jon pulled the women apart he swore he saw a camera flash and knew, with a sickening pain in his gut, that he would see this in the headlines soon enough. As though the last one didn’t cause enough damage. Another fight broke out when Arya took hold of the last case of her father’s favourite beers and was tackled to the ground by a young girl who claimed those were her daddy’s favourites. The fight ended with the supermarket’s security being called and a chuck of Arya’s sleeve being ripped off.

“That was…” said Arya, sitting in the back seat of Jon’s car. They had ran out of the store, thrown the bags into the car, slammed the doors behind them and sat in the locked car for at least three minutes before speaking. “I do not ever want to do that again.” she said.

“I don’t know how mum does it.” Sansa says. The woman’s ring had scratched her cheek lightly. In the back seat Arya nursed her weak arm, the little girl’s finger having dug into her skin harsh enough to leave bruises.

He looked out the window at the mad house that was the shopping center. Suddenly it did not seem so difficult to see how people were trampled to death in these situations. “I feel the need to go home and take a hot bath and cry.” Said Jon. He paused. “Did I say that out loud?”

Sansa nodded. “I won’t say anything as long as you don’t tell mum I forgot the bloody Meereenese radishes.”

On the other side of town Robb and Dany had headed to the mall to pick up the costumes Catelyn had bought for their yearly family portrait. Robb already knew they would hideous. They were every year. Last year they had been snowflakes, the year before they had been reindeer, and the year before that they had all been forced to dress up as Santa.

“Oh my Gods.” Dany breathed, pulling into the car park. It was so crowded that there was no a single parking space. Even the grass, once occupied with flowers and bushes, were now covered in cars. Vehicles were parked on sidewalks, nearly knocking over trees.

“If this is what it looks like outside I don’t want to know what it’s like inside.” Robb said.

“We have to get your mum’s cheesy costumes.” Dany said. “Or she will kill you.”

“Which death do you think will be worse?” he asked. “Death by mum or death after being trampled by people at a shoppe.”

He looked at the girl in the driver’s seat. “Mum.” They both said in unison. “Well I can’t find a space-“

“I’ll just run in and out.” Robb said. “Circle the lot, I’ll be out soon.”

He dashed through the car park, almost being struck by six different cars, and went through the doors. As he had predicted it was even worse on the inside, so crowded that there was no space to walk slowly let alone run in and out.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to find and get to the store, using the map to locate it on the third floor near the food court, which was even more crowded than the rest of the mall. It took him another half hour to wait in line for his name to be called, the ticket he had been given waving in his hand.

He looked in the bag after the woman at the counted handed it to him. “This can’t be right.” He said, shaking his head. “These aren’t Christmas themed they’re-“

“-medieval.” She finished. “Only ones we had in stock. Comes with,” she looked at the receipt. “One blue gown, Meereenese style. Five northern cloaks and breeches. Pink gown, Southron style. White gown, northern style. One pair wool breeches, one white tunic. It’s all there.”

Robb took the receipt and grimaced. He should have known his mother was planning something when he heard the glee in her voice. Nonetheless he took the bag and squeezed back out into the crowds with hopes to return to the car before he died of old age.

When he got back into the car Dany looked exhausted, her silver hair sticking out in all directions. “This is hell.” She said. “This is hell all the evil monsters are in this car park.”

“What happened to the car?” he asked, throwing the bags in the back seat and sinking so low into his own seat that his seatbelt threatened to hang him. “It’s all-“

“-eggy.” She said. “Someone threw eggs at me because I tried to ‘steal’ their parking space. Even though I didn’t. But that’s what they screamed at me when they drove away. Where they even got the bloody eggs from I don’t-“

“Thank you.” Robb interrupted, stealing a kiss from her. “For driving me I mean. You didn’t have to so I appreciate it.”

Dany smiled. In one fluid motion the stress left her face and was replaced with the same pure influx of happiness that made him fall in love with her in the first place. “I love you.” he whispered.

She looked up at him, surprised, suddenly glad that the car park was crowded so she could throw the car into park and lean over to kiss her friend turned husband turned ex-husband. “I love you too.”

“Good.” He said, tucking her hair behind her ear. “Remember that when you see the costume my mum got you to wear.”

Back near Winterfell Eddard Stark and Arya’s Not-Boyfriend Gendry Waters were at the tree yard to pick out their Christmas tree and after it had nearly fallen on the eldest Stark and been pulled off by Gendry, they were both covered from head to toe in pine sap and needles. At least they smelled nice, or so Eddard had commented. It had earned him a laugh from his daughters friend/boyfriend/love of her life that was so secret not even she knew.

When they returned home and undid the tree from where it had been fastened to the top of their car they placed it in the living room they both collapsed into the chairs Catelyn had furnished Ned’s studied with and cracked the tabs on two icy beers. It was bliss.

For all of three minutes before the front door was thrown open and a loud brood of voices came in. First came Arya, half her shirt torn, then Jon and Sansa, looking disheveled and upset. A few minutes later Robb and Dany came in, nursing seven large boxes and a bag so large they could both fit inside of it. And finally Catelyn. With a bloody nose.

“What happened?” Ned demanded. “What-“

She sighed in response, threw the multitude of bags she had been juggling to the floor and grabbed the beer from his hand, downing it in less than three gulps. “I hate…” she said, burping softly. It was the most un-Catelyn like thing Sansa had ever seen. “I hate shopping on Christmas Eve. I hate the King for what he’s done to us and to you. I hate Cersei Lannister. I hate Joffrey Baratheon.” She sucked in a gulp of air. “I hate shopping on Christmas Eve. I hate the lines and the crowds and the rude people- which I see you have experienced.” She said, gesturing to Arya’s torn shirt and Sansa’s cut cheek. “I hate the cars and I hate the crowds- yes, Robb, I know I said that already. But it’s almost Christmas. So everybody go upstairs and put on your costumes right now. The photographer is going to be here soon. And if you need a beer as much as I do to get through it, so be it.”


	25. Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Five

The Stark house was less crowded than the market or the mall but just barely. Every member of the Stark family, by blood or by relation, had returned to Catelyn and Eddard’s household, bringing gifts and foods and baskets of candies and baked snacks.

The kitchen was bustling; hands rolling dough, spooning jam into tins, baking meats, washing vegetables, burning fingers and cursing under their breath. Every pan and dish and pot that Catelyn owned was being used and washed so they could soon be reused again. The oven was so completely stuffed that each time a dish was removed the cooks fought over whose dish would in next, the fights nearly escalating from verbal to physical.

The living room was packed with Eddard and his brothers, gathered around the telly to watch the latest rugby match. They pushed and shoved and shouted, spilling the crisps they were eating and letting the foam from their beers drip onto the floor. Catelyn could have shouted at them then, the marks from their boots leaving stains on the rug, the coaster-less mugs leaving rings on the table, their shouting enough to disturb almost everything, but she didn’t. She only smiled, peeking around the doorframe to look fondly upon them.

The kids of the house, or those that had once been kids had been relegated to those that had been dubbed the ‘younger peoples tables.’ Jon and Sansa shared a chair, watching the game of chess that was going on between Dany and Bran, while Arya and Rickon raced through the front yard, playing a game of tag.

Catelyn watched the scene from her place in the kitchen, smiling fondly at all her children and all her friends that had quickly became her family. “I love Christmas.” She whispered. She could almost cry, watching them, seeing them all together, uninterrupted by dramatics or sadness or anything other than unbridled happiness. She _loved_ Christmas.

Her sister was on the phone, chatting in hushed tones with someone Catelyn assumed to be Petyr Baelish. At her side her son was flicking away at the screen of his phone, his glasses dropping so far down his nose she wondered how they did not fall completely off. In the room beside her Jon Arryn was also on the phone, presumably to the King or Queen or one of their advisors.

Ashara jumped through the open door, shouting that she was sorry she was late and that she had just sewn a boy’s finger back onto his hand. The dark haired woman then paused and took in the disarray of the house. “I’m sorry. I seem to have walked in on a scene from one of Catelyn’s nightmares.”

Catelyn smiled. “It’s the only time of year I accept messy houses!” she said. “Care for a drink?”

“I’m on call tonight.” Said Ashara. “For some reason every Christmas people decide to stick their fingers in electric sockets or stand up on ladders and then fall off of them.”

“Been there.” said Catelyn, gesturing pointedly to Brandon, who had come over to greet his wife with a kiss on the lips.

He frowned. “It was one time.” He said gruffly, though a smile pulled at his mouth. “And I only did it to save your old man from breaking another hip.”

“Speaking of-” began Lysa. “Where is he? And Edemure? They called and said they would be here an hour ago.”

“Here!” Edemure called, coming through the door. He was juggling several gift boxes and wrapped dishes while still trying to hold the door open for his father, who came up behind him. “Cat I’m here. Sorry I’m late the market was a mad house I had to get the fish from the docks and-”

“It’s fine.” Catelyn said as she threw her arms around him once he had been relieved of his parcels. “I’m just glad you’re both here.” She kissed her father on the cheek. “Ed, do you want to help in the kitchen?” he looked skeptical. “You could show us those fancy knife skills you learned in you-“ she lowered her voice. “-cooking class.” Edemure grinned and followed her into the kitchen, leaving his father to watch the game with the rest of the Starks.

“Are your parents coming?” Sansa asked, turning in Jon’s lap so she was facing him.

“Stop moving!” Arya complained, looking down at the flower she had been drawing on Sansa’s cast that was not smudged thanks to her movements.

Sansa apologized, cemented her cast in place, and Jon answered. “Mum and Oberyn are on the way. Doran couldn’t make it; flare up of his gout sent him to the hospital again. Not sure about Arianne.” He said. “Dad…I’m not sure. He stays fairly busy, even on holidays.”

“He might make an appearance.” Bran said, continuing to transcribe a lengthy poem on Sansa’s cast. “He did last year.”

“And he brought lemon cakes.” Added Dany, cursing under her breath as Bran captured another one of her pieces and knocked the stone piece off the board.

“Well I’m sold.” Teased Sansa, kissing her husband on the cheek, the hot air she exhaled from her nose fogging up his glasses. He grinned at her, the same sideways grin that never ceased to make her heart flutter in her chest, and continued to read the newspaper he had pulled in front of them. “Anything good?” supplied Sansa.

“Just more headlines that make us look like crazy domestic abusers.” He said absently, his eyes scanning the page. “Other than that it’s all marriage announcements and articles on the marriage law.”

“Anybody we know?” Arya asked, her eyes flicking up from Sansa’s cast.

Jon shrugged, reading off from the list. “Margaery and Renly, already knew that. Brienne Tarth and Loras Tyrell, interesting but we already knew that too. Ygritte and…” Jon trailed off, swallowing. “Tormund…by the Gods that is the strangest couple I’ve ever heard.”

“Stranger than the flamboyantly gay Tyrells and their soon to be spouses?” said Dany dryly.

“No it just…” Jon said.

Sansa looked at him, lowering her voice so only he could hear. “Are you okay?” she asked, her fingers absently winding through the lapels of his shirt.

“Yeah I’m fine.” he said.

“It is your ex girlfriend and ex best friend.”

Jon looked up from the newspaper, his face changing. “I am fine.” he said, kissing the tip of her nose. “I have you and I wouldn’t trade you for fifty Ygritte’s. You’re my wife now. I don’t care about anyone else.”

“Get a room.” Arya and Dany moaned at the same time, looking at each other and giggling when they found their voices had come in unison.

Jon pulled a face and planted a sloppy, wet kiss on Sansa’s lips before turning back to the newspaper. “Okay, okay. More couples coming up. Allyria and Beric Dondarrion, married three days ago in a Southron Sept. Khal Drogo and Doreah. That’s it. But-“ he added when he heard their groans. “They also have wedding announcements listed. Starting with Theon and Jeyne Poole, Ramsay Bolton and Myranda, and Harrold Harrdyng and Myranda Royce.” He read. “Basically everyone our age is getting married. What a strange world we live in.”

Sansa peered at the paper, struggling to read it upside down after Jon had folded it in half. “Wait…does that say what I think it says? Jaime Lannister is getting married?”

“Shut up!” said Dany, perking up. “To whom?”

“Not to you.” Jon teased, remembering his aunt’s girlhood crush on the man. “To Margaery’s cousin Megga.”

“That’s odd.” remarked Sansa.

“Maybe he just needed someone to marry before the stupid law mandated his time was expired and the stupid King got to pick a stupid betrothed for him.” Bran muttered bitterly. “Check.” He added, making Dany fume.

“Does it say anything about Joff?” Arya asked, looking over Jon’s shoulder.

“Nothing.” He added.

“I don’t see why the King’s family is except from the law.”

“They are not.” Said Ned, coming to the table. “Well not officially anyway. But colloquially…yes. Even if the two weeks elapsed the King would either postpone or pick someone they already had a relationship with. Which was the case for Mr. Lannister. I believe he’s been dating Megga for nearly a year now. I’m surprised I heard that gossip before you kids.” He teased, ruffling Bran’s hair before stooping to kiss the rest of his children. Then, when Jon and Dany looked left out, kissed them too, grinning all the while.

“Lets change the subject.” Said Sansa quickly, seeing how Bran, Arya, and Dany’s faces were growing redder and angrier. “Is that the jumper we made you?”

“It is.” Said Ned. “My favourite jumper and proudest possession.”

Sansa’s heart swelled. For Christmas nearly ten years ago she and Robb had decided to make a jumper for their father’s gift, buying a plain knit from the store and enough supplies to decorate fifty jumpers let alone one. They really had intended it nicely but by the end it was a disaster of spilled glitter, pom poms, string, and uneven letters. But on the back it had all of their names: Sansa, Robb, Arya, and Bran’s little baby fist. And then three years later when Rickon had been born they had pulled it out of storage in the attic and added his little baby footprint.

Ned wore it every year on Christmas Eve without fail, no matter how much he was teased about it. “I love you, dad.” Sansa said, kissing her father’s stubbly cheek. “Thank you. For everything.” She added, her voice a whisper.

“Dinner is almost ready!” called Catelyn from the kitchen. “When it is that match better be paused because if you lot let all this hard work go to waste over a game of rugby I will be punting you up and down a field like a rugby ball.”

“We’re ready.” Benjen called back. “Bring on the food!”

Suddenly Dany rocketed to her feet so quickly Jon jumped and Sansa nearly spilled from his lap. She let out a shriek that made the entire house turn to see what was amuck. “Check mate!” she screamed, slamming down her piece on the board. “I beat you! I beat you! It’s been three years but I beat you! Check mate, sucker!”

Catelyn poked her head out again. “Dinner is on the table. Enough rugby, enough calls,” she said pointedly to Lysa and Jon Arryn. She looked quizzically at Dany, “and enough weird chess victory celebrating. Everyone grab a plate and let’s get this show on the road.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These last chapters were some of my favourites to write! I hope you like them as much as I do :)


	26. Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Six

Sansa flattened herself against the wall, holding her plate across her chest like a shield. At her side was the rest of her family, Arya licking her lips, Bran looking pained at the loss of food, Rickon holding tightly to Sansa’s hand and looking on the verge of tears. Before them was a mad dash for the food tables, so fast and aggressive that Sansa was reminded of her and Arya’s field hockey days.

Jon had stepped forward, tried to wedge himself between Benjen and Brandon, only to be pulled back by Sansa. “What are-“

She inched backwards after Ashara accidently trod down on her foot. “Trust me.”

He looked wary. “But all the food is going to be gone-“

“Just trust me.”

No sooner had she finished than the throng of people that had gathered around the table began to thin, bodies moving back to their tables and chairs in bright-eyed content, plated piled high as mountains. As Jon had predicted the table had gone sparse, most of the plates half filled and spilling over with leftovers, the stack of plates and napkins that had once stood tall now empty. “But what…”

“Just wait.” Arya repeated. She leaned absently against Bran’s wheelchair, the boy still looking somewhat upset from the chess loss he had taken earlier in the night. Dany had only stopped cheering four minutes before.

There was a clank of pots and Catelyn appeared, looking out at the faces of her children. She held out her hand for Rickon and smiled as he jumped into her arms, kissing her small nose. “You didn’t eat?” she asked. Her children shook their heads, their eyes so wide and innocent that Cat was suddenly rocketed back to when they were children. Cat lowered her voice. “Check the kitchen.”

The group tried their best not to garner attention, slipping one by one through the swinging kitchen door their mother had just abandoned.

The wrap-around counters were filled with the bowls and dishes that contained the food, that had been unable to fit on the plates that had been set out over the tables. It was so fresh the food was still steaming. Sansa grinned, lifting a crimson eyebrow.

“Aren’t you glad you trusted me?” she asked, serving herself a steaming spoonful of potatoes. She winked at him, fishing around in the cooler for a beer and tossing extra to Jon and Dany. “Sorry, B.” she said. She had turned to smile at her brother but found he was too busy fishing a slice of pork tenderloin out of its dish to notice.

“I want to tell you how much I love you but right now I’m too busy trying to fight the urge to stick my face in that bowl of potatoes and eat my way out.” Jon returned, diving into the half of the roasted turkey that had been left on the kitchen table, spooning a mountain of carrots and peas onto his plate.

Bran and Arya fought over the remaining pieces of pigeon pie their mother had decorated with a dough sculpture of an actual pigeon. Dany turned to the roasted vegetables, picking through stalks of asparagus and snaps of peas before taking a slice of roasted boar. Sansa frowned, looking around and finding the kitchen was lacking one hungry patron.

“I’ll be right back.” She whispered, setting down her plate, and moving back out into the chaos of the living room.

She wormed passed Benjen, who was already working on seconds, and slipped up the stairs, hoping Lysa’s son did not follow her, as he always seemed to. She heard footsteps from down the hall and followed them, leaning against the jamb of the door, her frown only deepening.

She shook her head. “You can’t do this.” She whispered. In her chest her heart seemed to be beating harder than it ever had. Sansa wondered if she should have brought her inhaler with her.

Robb Stark continued packing, folding another jumper and setting it down into the suitcase. “Sansa.”

“Please.” She said, taking a step toward him. She did not miss how he shrunk back from her.

“Sansa.”

Robb laid another pair of trainers in the pack. Sansa felt tears pricking the backs of her eyes. Her eyes swept over the contents of his suitcase, finding everything from winter boots to swimming trunks. She suddenly realized the truth. “You’re not coming back.” She said, the corner of her mouth twitching. It was almost more than she could bear. “Where will you go?”

He had yet to respond. Sansa took another step forward, anger flaring within her. “Well. If you’re going to go and not come back you might as well go downstairs and enjoy your last Thanksgiving with your-“ Sansa faked a hiccup, using the sound to disguise the sob she made.

He walked back from his closet again, taking a hat from the spokes on the wall and settling it on the top of the luggage. Sansa stepped forward to block his path from the closet. Her cheeks had flushed angry red. “Robb!” she half shouted. If the bottom half of the house had not been bustling so completely with noise they might have heard her. “I don’t care if it’s selfish.” She said, pulling back on his shoulder as he tried to turn away from her. “I can’t do this without you. We can’t…I need you. I can’t survive not seeing your face everyday.”

Robb turned to face her. His eyes had gone red as her hair, red rimmed, red tinted, bloodshot red. When he opened his mouth to speak his voice cracked. “It is selfish.” He whispered. A tear ran down his cheek when he blinked. “It is. But not as selfish as I am.” He said. “I thought I would be more mature than this. Trying to sneak out in the middle of the night and never see m-my family again. It’s selfish. I won’t do it.”


	27. Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Arya leaned against the outside wall of Robb’s bedroom, the low drift of voices coming from under the closed door almost quiet enough that she couldn’t hear. Her eyes had misted, the sound of her heart beating in her ears almost deafening. Sansa was trying to talk Robb out of leaving but he wasn’t listening to her. She could hear her sister crying, the dull hum of tears unmistakable. Arya had heard that sound far too many times to mistake it.

She could see Jon’s head bobbing up and down at the foot of the stairs, his thick brows furrowed. A worried look crossed over his face. Arya motioned for him to stay where he was and slipped down the stairs to meet him, her bare feet soundless against the wooden paneling of the floor. She bent to slip the heels her mother had insisted upon back onto her feet, feeling their weight ten fold.

“What’s-“

“Robb planned to run away.” Arya whispered, pulling him into the next room. “But-“ she continued when Jon made to interrupt, his whole body propelled forward by the shock of what she had just said. “Sansa talked him out of it.”

“Arya-“

Jon stopped short. He looked at the girl he had known for the past twenty years of his life, her small body shaking, her shoulders bowed, her face half hidden by the dark hair that hung in her face. Her hands twisted in the pleats of her dress. She leaned on her left ankle, most likely having twisted the other one after tripping in her high heels.

But she was crying. Her cheeks had splotched red and white, her eyes glowing and swimming with long, fat tears that rolled down her cheeks and down her chin. “I hate this.” She whispered. “I hate that everything is changing and everyone is miserable. I hate that I’m next. I’m next in this hideous line of horrors. And who will the King make me marry? Tommen? He’s only eight years younger than me. Joffrey?

“Gods forbid.” They said in unison.

“I thought Sansa was going to run away, before you. And now Robb. What then? Will I have to worry about Bran and Rickon too? What Lannister spawn will they be forced to marry?”

Jon sat, silent, watching her, listening carefully. He leaned against the wall of the empty atrium and, upon hearing the sounds of voices coming towards them, took her hand and led her to the coat closet. “It’s private.” He said when she gave him a quizzical look. She shrugged and ducked into the closet, sitting on the floor and covering her cold legs with one of the coats that she had pulled from its hanger. Jon joined her, sitting cross-legged on the floor on her other side, nuzzling against a stack of old blankets.

He listened while Arya spoke. In the darkness of the closet she seemed almost carefree, speaking of the problems he knew she would never speak to anyone else about, save perhaps Robb and Sansa. He did not realize how long it had been until his phone buzzed in his pocket and he read Sansa’s message.

It read, _your mum just called to ask if we needed anything. She said she should be here soon_.

_Tell her to bring marshmallows and chocolate._

_Like we didn’t have enough chocolate last night_ _J_

_Some of us didn’t,_ Jon replied. _You and Arya ate it all._

Another smiling face, plus: _Where are you?_

_Coat closet by the front door,_ said Jon as Arya read nosily over his shoulder.

_…._

_Don’t ask, just come._

A moment later the knob of the door turned. Arya and Jon looked up, blinking brightly in the suddenly present light. Sansa and Robb stood in the doorframe like golden figured, tall as statues from their positions so high above Jon and Arya. “What are you doing?” asked Robb, cocking his head.

Looking over her shoulder Sansa jumped, suddenly diving into the closet, landing half way onto Arya’s shoulders and Jon’s back. “What the bloody-“

“It’s Aunt Lysa.” Sansa hissed, waving Robb in. The closet suddenly seemed to grow ten times smaller with the four of them sitting shoulder to shoulder, their legs drawn to their chests to keep from smothering each other. “And Robin.”

“He’s in love with her.” Robb informed Jon, seeing his confused face.

“Aren’t you-“

“-cousins?” finished Sansa. “Yes. But he doesn’t seem to understand that.”

“Last Christmas he carried around a mistletoe branch and tried to kiss her six times.”

“Five.” Said Sansa gruffly. “Once he actually did. Stuck his tongue halfway down my throat like a bloody leech.”

It was Arya’s turn for her phone to buzz and as it lit up the closet was illuminated with light. “It’s Gendry.” She said. “He’s on his way.”

“I hate to say it but if anyone else gets in this closet we’re going to suffocate.” Jon said.

“We ought to get out soon anyway.” Sansa groaned. “Your mum should be here any minute.” She said to Jon. “Your Not-Boyfriend is here.” To Arya. “And you haven’t eaten anything yet, I know you must be hungry.” To Robb.

By the time they had untangled their limbs and dethatched themselves from the closet floor another few minutes had trickled away and just as Jon was turning to return to the sitting room he heard a knock on the door. From the other room Catelyn called for someone to answer it and, recognizing the blurry figure of his mother through the glass paneling, Jon made to open it.

Elia Targaryen greeted him with a kiss on the cheek and a hand that automatically lifted to run through his hair, making to fix the rogue curls that she said were always mussed.

“Sansa, my dear. You look beautiful.” She greeted, kissing Sansa’s cheek and taking her good hand, squeezing gently. Her eyes darkened slightly as they ran across to her casted arm. “I was so sorry to hear about what happened.” she said. “Rhaegar is doing everything he can to have the photographs pulled but you know how the tabloids are”

Sansa flushed bright pink, most likely remembering the events that had occurred just before the photographs had been taken. Jon moved to her side, his fingers twined through her fingers, feeling the coldness of them from the lack of heat in the coat closet.

“Yes.” added Jon quickly, when Sansa was too embarrassed to speak. “Remember Cersei and Robert’s wedding? I saw more photos of them than I saw of you two.”

Elia laughed prettily, her dark hair falling into her eyes. Seeming to regain her voice Sansa politely added, “You look lovely, Elia. I love your dress.”

Elia was swathed in brightly coloured silks that had been embroidered in holiday prints, just as she did every Christmas. Over the years she had commissioned Christmas trees, ornaments, wrapped gifts, snowflakes, reindeer ears, and more fabrics Jon had not even begun to name. People began to look forward to it as much as she did, itching to see what she chose to wear. There were even magazine articles about it, the spreads titled ‘the twelve gowns of Christmas.’

“Thank you.” Said Elia with another kind smile. She then went on to continue, “Your father is coming as well.” She lowered her voice. “The King and Queen plan to join him.”

Jon tried very hard to keep his face schooled into neutrality though angry words and rude faces were threatening to burst out of him like water from an overflowing sink. He only nodded, more than thankful when his mother moved along to greet the rest of the Stark guests, a cheer running through the throng of people when her presence was taken note of.

“When the King arrives you must be polite.” Said Elia, circling back to her son. She set down her wine glass, looking curiously at him. “Your contempt is thinly veiled.”

“As it should be.” Jon scoffed. “Any moment I am within his presence and do not speak my mind if a moment my patience is being pushed to the limit.”

“Jon.” she said sternly. “That sort of talk is fine around me but if anyone overheard you…”

“I know.” He conceded, taking a long draw from his beer, feeling the coldness rush through his throat and into his stomach before being replaced with heat. “I’m just angry.”

Elia bobbed her head in response. “I know, lovie.” She replied. She looked down at her hands, the sentence she had just started trailing off into nothingness.

“What is it mum?”

She shook her head, replacing the smile on her face. Jon knew his mother well enough to recognize it as a fake and pressed her even further until finally she spoke again. “Your father never wanted me to tell you…”

Jon suddenly felt his food rise and twist in his stomach like sickness. “Mum…”

Elia finished her wine in one gulp, a drop of purple running from the corner of her mouth like a ruby. “The marriage law has only recently come back into law.” She said. Jon nodded, having already known this intimately. “Officially, I mean.”

“I don’t-“ Jon began, confused.

She licked her bottom lip. “What I mean is that the marriage law, archaic and awful as it is, has been used for as long as I can remember. While the reigning king could not lawfully punish someone for violating it there were _other_ ways. Some would say far worse ways.”

“Mum I’m sorry I do not know what you’re talking about.”

“Your father and I had an arranged marriage.” She said. Time seemed to come to a grating halt around him. Jon could feel blood rushing passed his ears, his mouth going dry enough to make him feel suddenly thirsty. She took another breath, eyeing her glass like she wished it could magically fill up with more wine. “As did Eddard and Cat.”


	28. Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Jon looked flabbergasted as he looked back at his mother, as though he expected her to burst into laughter and shout that she was just kidding. He waited a moment for that to happen. His stomach churned as his entire existence was being called into question. Was he just the product of the marriage rule’s thrice monthly consummation rule? For all that the thought of his parents having sex made him sick it made him even sicker to think that his parents were not as in love as he had always thought. They were only pretending. Just as he and Sansa were.

“Mum I…had no idea.” Jon choked out. The turkey he had eaten sat in his belly like a stone. A slice of coconut cake his mother had offered him now sat heavily in his hand, untouched, even as it was his favourite.

Elia’s dark hair shone in the light as she nodded slowly. “Your father did not want you to know. None of you to know.”

Jon was taken aback. “Not even-“

“No.” finished Elia. “Not even Dany and Viserys know. Please do not...”

Jon accepted her proposal with a nod. Out of everyone he had expected that his father would tell Viserys, no matter how foolish the man was at times Jon knew he would rather die than share a secret about his family.

“I won’t.” said Jon. All at once the presence of every secrets he was keeping suddenly seemed to weight twenty stone within him. He abandoned his cake, set down his plate and catching a glimpse of the watch on his wrist. It had only been a few minutes since he had been sitting in the closet with his family.

And now everything was different. _Again_.

A pain in his head began to throb at the base of his skull. The constant flood of paradigm shifting information that was being shared with him was beginning to make him weary. With Sansa he pretended to iron strong, to not be bothered by the law and the King and how different his life would now be, no matter how he had come to love his wife. He pretended he did not constantly think of how easy and simple his life had been before he returned home for the mini-break. All he had thought of then was schoolwork and his internship and finding time to eat with his busy schedule. And sometimes Ygritte. But now…

The doorbell sounded. Both Elia and Jon jumped, the spot of cake flying off her fork flying off to land on Jon’s head. She apologized meekly, the colour slowly draining from her face. “Your father is here.” She whispered, getting to her feet and smoothing out her skirt. A nervous tick. She looked desperately toward her son, her long fingered hand clasping his. “Jon-“

Jon Targaryen gave his mother his best, most reassuring smile, squeezing her hand tenderly. “I won’t say anything.” He said. “I promise. As for the King and Queen…I’ll be polite.”

Robert Baratheon was red faced and tipsy as he swaggered through the door, a stack of gifts in his hand standing almost a head taller than him. At his side Cersei Lannister glowed like a gilded ornament. She looked lovely as a dream; golden and sweet faced and shimmering. Her yellow hair lay down her back in shining golden strands, a loose braid wrapped at the nape of her next, a few stems of white flowers woven through. Her gilded coronet rested upon the crown of her head, the colour only adding to the richness of her gown.

For the last few months Jon had come to hate her so completely that he had become blind to her beauty but all at once he was able to see, finding it no great shock that the mummers sang so voraciously of her beauty. _I loved a maid as fair as summer with sunlight in her hair_. Cersei was even smiling, an unusual feat, accepting the wet kiss Robert planted on her cheek without complaint.

“Happy Christmas.” The Queen said to Jon, nodding as he bowed to her. He suddenly found himself wondering absently if there was still any cake in his hair.

“Happy Christmas, your grace.” He said, feigning his own smile. Her green eyes were hawk-like and cold, watching his actions as though she half expected him to spit in her face. “Do you fare well?”

“I do.” she returned. Her smile had not faltered. The games they were playing seemed to have increased in maturity and believability. A casual onlooker might actually mistake their pleasantries for genuine kindness. But there were no casual onlookers in the Stark house. Jon could feel eyes on his back, sizing their every move, watching with bated breath for what actions might follow.

Rhaegar Targaryen slipped silently through the door behind the King and Queen and pulled his son into a tight embrace, kissing his temple softly. His breath smelled vaguely of liquor, the fading glow in his cheeks signifying his night in the King’s council was not all business.

“Happy Christmas.” He greeted. Jon’s eyes fell to the pack slung over his shoulder, the familiar lumps in the satchel signaling that he carried with him his harp, which he had most likely been playing in the car based on the redness of his callused fingers. Jon’s gaze slipped casually back to Cersei Lannister, whose green eyes flicked suddenly away from Rhaegar, looking absently at the crowd that had gathered in the other room. “Where is your lovely wife?”

Jon shook his head slightly to clear it. “She-“

“She was just taking another pie out of the oven.” Said Ned, entering the room and offering to take Cersei’s olive coat. She smiled politely in response and turned her back to him, golden hair sweeping over her shoulders as she shrugged out of the garment. “She should be about any moment.”

As the small group made their way into the adjoining room Jon heard the low thrum of laughter he recognized as coming from Sansa and Robb, whom he found in the kitchen, struggling to remove a pie from its iron tin.

Her crimson hair lay over her shoulders, shining bright and soft as a ruby under the white light of the kitchen fixtures. She was smiling, a spot of flour on her nose from where she had tried to wipe her hair from her face. Jon only realized he was smiling when his cheeks begun to ache from it, whatever beauty he had found in Cersei reappearing in Sansa tenfold.

If he had a better voice he might have sung. _I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair_.

Suddenly Sansa’s eyes drifted to him, passing between he and the King and Cersei, before she set down the tin and headed towards them, picking delicately through the crowd that was trying to pretend they were not eavesdropping on the King’s conversation.

“Happy Christmas, your grace.” Said she, dipping into a curtsy before the Queen. “Happy Christmas, your grace.” She repeated, this time to the King.

Robert slurred as he spoke, the stink of beer pouring from his lips like poison. “My dear, you look as lovely as ever!” said the King, taking the hand Sansa did not offer. He pulled her into a bone-crushing embrace, the side of her face smothered against his burly chest. “You surely are a sight for sore eyes.”

Sansa laughed uncomfortably, the sound muffled by Robert’s chest against her mouth. Jon could nearly feel the discomfort radiating from her body like heat, her arms glued to her side instead of reaching out to return his embrace. “T-thank you, your grace.” She said, her gaze shifting to Cersei. “Although I think it is your Lady wife who is the loveliest tonight.”

Cersei looked momentarily surprised, watching Sansa as though she was trying to read the girl’s mind. “Thank you.” The golden Queen said finally, as though unsure of what else to say.

The exchange was growing all the more uncomfortable. Almost a full minute had passed and Robert had not yet let go of Sansa’s hand. Cersei’s gaze had shifted back to Rhaegar, eyeing the harp on his back as though she was aching for him to continue playing. Ned was looking between Sansa and Jon as though he was anticipating an outburst from either of them.

Robb swore loudly from the kitchen and Sansa used it as an excuse to pull her hand away from the King and beat a hasty retreat, claiming she needed to tend to the desserts Rob was currently butchering. “Jon, I could use your help holding the pans.” She added as Jon was mentally cursing her for leaving him alone with the royal family.

“Thank the Gods.” Robb said, holding up his hands and showing the array of burns and growing blisters he had gotten while trying to help his mother bake. “Why do we need so many cakes?”

Jon pushed his sleeves over his elbows. He leaned towards her, the small quarters of the kitchen forcing them close together. Sansa had not realized her hand had lifted to loop a finger through the hole in his belt until she saw his eyebrows shoot up. She quickly dropped her hand, though she desired nothing more than to leave it be.

Jon grinned down at her, the heat of her body warm against his as she leaned around to wrap her arms around his neck. “I don’t know but I’d rather be in here than with…” his words went unsaid but they were no less understood by Robb and Sansa, who nodded before turning back to the array of desserts on the counter.

The next half hour was spent filling and icing and piping out decorations onto the cakes and pies Catelyn had agonized over cooking. Nearly every cooling tray in the kitchen was being used; the cake tins and stands all filled with desserts. Jon could not wait to eat them and yet the most delicious thing he could see was Sansa.

“You’re kneading too hard.” Sansa whispered. Jon looked down at the dough in his hands and found it was riddled with holes from where his distracted fingers had punctured it.

Jon was torn between two thoughts, how lovely his wife looked in her crimson gown and how shocked he had been by his mother’s words. He was not sure which had caused his hands to tighten into fists in the dough. He was not sure he really wanted to know.

Sansa leaned towards him again, wiping her hands with a dishtowel and pulling off her apron. “You don’t look so good.” She continued, her crimson brows furrowed. She lowered her voice significantly. “Did something happen?”

“No.” Jon lied, guilt twisting in his stomach like a knife. “Just ate too much.”

Sansa’s eyes narrowed, her face reading unspoken skepticism. Suddenly looking mischievous she lifted herself onto her toes, the warmth of her breath making gooseflesh run down his skin as she whispered in his ear. “After tonight there’s only a few more days until we return to school…” she began, her fingers trailed up the seam of his trousers slowly enough to be agonizing. “Our flat…our _bed_.”

Jon licked his bottom lip unconsciously, trying very hard to disguise the predatory look in his eyes. “You’re going to make me tear this dough again, you wicked thing.” He muttered. “Although I’d rather tear-“

Robb threw himself against the counter, fixing them with a look that made them freeze, his mouth barely moving as he spoke. “Everyone can hear you.”

Jon looked up. Benjen Stark stood at the counter with Ashara, whatever conversation they had begun seeming to have trailed off. He looked more than pleased, his dark eyebrows rising into his hairline, a smirk frozen on his lips. “By all means, please continue.” He teased. “I’d love to see what’s going to come next.”


	29. Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Dusk had long ago settled around the Stark household, the moon rising swiftly into the sky, uninterrupted by the loud pump of music that poured onto the street through the open windows of the house, the cheering of guests, the clang of pots and pans, the array of laughter and pleasure. The low drift of harp music swiveled through the air from where Rhaegar was playing, his weight leaned lazily against the swoop of the ottoman’s cushion. He lay flat on his back, one leg crossed over the other, the small, golden harp resting upon his thigh so he might balance.

At his side sat Cersei Lannister, her chin resting on her hands, her eyes almost unblinking for they dare not miss a moment of his playing. A few other guests hung on his every note, Ashara, Lysa, Arianne, even Arya, all vying for space so they might suck up his attentions just a moment more.

By the time the moon arched higher in the cloudless sky the crowds begun to thin. Lysa pronounced that it was time for her son to receive his bath and go to bed, Jon Arryn nodding absently along with her words before bidding everyone goodbye and trailing after her. Brandon left soon after, regrettably, wishing he could stay as he slapped his brother on the back. Oberyn kissed Sansa softly on the cheek as he left and politely ignored the pink blush that crept into her cheeks upon realizing the closeness of his body, the scratch of his beard sharp against her soft cheek. He apologized once again for the disorder the photographers had caused, promising it would not happen under his watch again.

After dancing away from Bran, who had desperately tried to initiate another chess game with her, Daenerys slipped upstairs, happily undetected. She poked around for a bit, eyeing family pictures, grinning at the sight of a blurry photo of Sansa and Arya wrestling in a pile of snow. She considered whether or not she should have a look around Sansa’s room but rejected the idea, thinking that if she were to find Jon’s pants in a heap on the floor she might never recover.

Instead she let herself into Robb’s room, closing the door quietly behind her. It had been so long since she had been inside of it that she had forgotten how it looked. And he had changed it around, she realized, and, from the lack of clothes on the floor, had cleaned it.

Half of her was overwhelmed with the urge to cry. It was so completely unfair that the King could just make them dance around like puppets, following his every command no matter how ridiculous. Half of her wanted to shout. Shout at the King, shout at Robb, shout at Rhaegar, for he had always promised he would protect her and yet he was allowing this.

And then a very small, very subdued part of her wanted to smile. It wanted her to lie in Robb’s bed and drape herself in his clothing and his blankets until she smelled of him. She wanted to look under his bed and see if there were any naughty magazines there. She wanted to scan his bookshelves for novels she had never read and novels she had and loved.

Dany had just begun to do so when she heard the squeak of the door and jumped backwards, an apology springing to her lips. But she found Robb standing there, his long face having been cured by the amount of cake he had eaten and the amount of hugs he had been given by his uncles.

A smile broke out over his face happily, Robb crossing the room to take her in his arms and kiss her so firmly on the lips that she almost did fall backwards onto the bed. His mouth tasted like sweet cream and hers like red wine, the way the flavour melded not unlikeable, his tongue dragging across her bottom lip.

“I love you.” The sound was halfway muffled by the way hers moved against his. Her hand turned into a fist in his hair, pulling him closer to her. “Stop crying.” He whispered. She had not even realized she had been until he spoke, his thumb rising to wipe her face tenderly.

“I love you.” She repeated. Robb laid her gently on her back in the bed, the fluff of the blankets around her making the room smell instantly like him. “I don’t want you to marry her.”

“I won’t.” he cooed, brushing back a strand of her silver hair. “I won’t.”

Sansa stood at the bottom of the stairs, her chin resting lightly on her hands as she watched Rhaegar plucking at the strings of his harp. Propped on her hip Rickon had been lulled into sleep by the sound, his face pressed against her shoulder, his small fingers clenched into a fist in the ends of her crimson hair.

Ashara Dayne slipped her coat on near the door. She approached Sansa; careful to assure that the crimson haired girl was out of earshot of any other one of the guests. “San.” She whispered, her approach having been so quiet that even Sansa had not heard, jumping as she spoke. “Do you have a moment?”

“Of course.” Said Sansa. A knife of panic twisted in her gut. She had been the victim of too many private moments, too many secrets, too many conversations she was sworn not to share. She was not sure if she could bear another.

After handing Rickon off to the welcoming hands of Catelyn Stark the women inched off to the side, standing near the closet beneath the staircase. Ashara’s light eyes met Sansa’s, her cheeks slightly pink. “I have been meaning to speak to you for a few days.” Said she. “But today, obviously, was not a good time. How is your arm by the way?” but before Sansa could speak. “No wait! Don’t let me get sidetracked again. What I am- awkwardly- trying to say is that…I brought you something.”

Ashara pressed a small box into Sansa’s hand and continued before Sansa could peek down to see what it contained. “It’s for…” she lowered her voice even more. “It’s to combat the consummation rule. The King might command that you and Jon have sex three times a month but I figured that at twenty you wouldn’t want a child…”

Sansa choked out a word of agreement, her head bobbing. “So anyway…just stew it when you and Jon…when you are done doing… _after_. A small cup should do. If you need more just ring me.” Said she, taking a step as though she was making to rejoin the party. “Elia was going to give it to you…I thought this might be less awkward for you.”

Sansa let out a sigh, silently thanking the Gods that Ashara had intervened. As kind as Elia was it would be nothing but awkward to be given moon tea from Jon’s mother. “Thank you.” Sansa whispered.

Ashara smiled softly and left Sansa to try frantically to figure out where to hide her moon tea in her compartment-less dress before deciding she would slip it into Jon’s pocket while no one was looking.

She took a step away, suddenly frozen by the loud whisper of voices that drifted down from the head of the stairs. Sansa flattened herself against the wall, the sight of Cersei and Robert standing at the head of the stairs making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She was frozen stiff. Half of her desperately desired to turn and run after Ashara, the other half was scared that if she moved she might be seen by the King.

“-are going home.” Robert whispered. The anger in his voice made a chill run through Sansa’s body like she had just been caught in a stiff wind.

“I don’t understand-“

“We are going home!” Robert repeated. Sansa could almost picture his face, red and angry, the vein in his temple throbbing like the string of a harp. “You-“ he said. She could hear a sharp footstep overhead and a whimper following. “-acting like a whore! Sitting there. Lounging around like a whore in front of Rhaegar.”

Another whimper. Sansa’s feet were rooted to the ground with invisible strings. “He is playing the harp-“

“The harp?” repeated Robert. “The harp? Do you think me a fool?” he spat. Cersei let out a sharp gasp and Sansa knew without looking that the King had taken hold of her arm, his fingers clamped hard enough around her that she could probably feel a bruise forming. Sansa was familiar with the hold. It seemed to run in the family. “I can see how you look at him. Like I’m blind-“

“Am I?” countered Cersei. Anger flared in her voice. “Do you think me blind? Do you think I can’t see the constant string of whores you parade before me I-“

The sound of the strike came before Cersei’s gasp. Sansa’s hand automatically lifted to touch her own cheek. She could almost feel the blistering redness spreading across it, the way her entire face felt bruised and pained. And yet Cersei did not cry. Sansa could hear her suck in a breath, sniffle, silent. _Defiant_.

When no conversation continued Sansa knew they would be coming down the stairs at any moment and backed closer to the wall, hoping the darkness of the hall hid her. Her hand fumbled absently with the knob of the closet but found it locked. Sansa was filled with panic, having thought that the closet would be her salvation.

Robert descended the stairs with his back to her, not even noticing her. But after him came Cersei, the yellow dress she wore the same colour as the bruising shading across her cheek. Her green eyes flicked towards Sansa, the expression on her face not even changing.

Sansa opened her mouth to speak but found no words would come. She crossed her arms slowly behind her back, the box clasped in her hands so it could not be seen.

When Cersei struck her half of the pain was from the shock of it. The sound reverberated in such a small space, ringing in Sansa’s ears as her blood rushed. The thin diamond ring on Cersei’s finger had cut through the skin of Sansa’s upper cheek, a jewel of blood falling like a tear.

Her green eyes were swimming. Cersei stared back at her. “You couldn’t even do me the decency of flinching, could you?” she whispered. Sansa did not respond, her hold on the box tightening so much that she thought she might crush whatever herbs were inside. A golden lioness, she bore her teeth, seething as she whispered. “Get out of my way.” And shoved passed the other woman without even waiting to see if she might move.


	30. Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Jon’s watch read half two and while the guests had thinned the party was nowhere near its wrap.

Gendry had arrived a few hours earlier with a few cases of beer and a box of left over party favours from their last party. Having just driven for four hours he looked weary and on edge, though as soon as he caught sight of Arya those emotions melted away. His grimace enveloped into a smile, his dark eyes glittering under the fairy lights on the balcony.

Arya nearly jumped out of her seat upon seeing him, doing her best to act casual as she hurried across the ground to his side. Standing before him she looked as though she might embrace him but, upon looking over her shoulder and realizing they were not alone, took his hand instead, though Sansa noticed it was less of a handshake and more of a handhold.

Though winter was fully in bloom and snow had piled up in small hills in the backyard of the Stark residence the space was no less occupied. Though the grass was stiff and frozen and was jagged as shards of glass against their backs, Bran and Shireen had spread themselves over a blanket in the middle of the yard, half hidden by the fur blanket they had draped over themselves.

Robb and Dany had appeared with flushed faces and clothes that lay slightly askew, making Jon’s eyes narrow as he watched them cross the yard to sit on the other side of the table, Robb’s arms lifting to drape a blanket over their shoulders.

Even Arya and Gendry had given up the guise of pure friendship, sitting together in the tree swing, Gendry lying with his head in Arya’s lap, her fingers dancing teasingly across his face from brow to lips. Jon even thought she might have leaned down to kiss him, something that made him quite happy.

Jon’s eyes drifted over the yard, catching upon the haze of lazy laughter that drifted up from the blanket fort Shireen had set to making to the slight whisper of sweet words from Robb’s lips to Dany’s ear, the soft smile that quirked on her lips making Jon himself smile.

His eyes fell over the empty seat at his side, his mind once again stretching to wonder where Sansa had gone off. He had seen her speaking to Ashara for a moment as he carried to the Christmas tree the gifts Catelyn had given him but when he had turned back to find her she had disappeared.

Just as he considered returning to the house to make sure everything was all right Jon saw a flash of crimson light and found Sansa stepping through the balcony doors. Her body was hidden by shadows as she moved along the edges of the yard, the only light coming from a few glass lanterns that hung from the branches of trees and the white moonlight from above.

She spread a blanket over the grass, waving a hand as she beckoned Jon to come over, pulling the blanket a bit away from the other couples. In her arms she carried a pile of blankets tall enough to make a fort that would put Bran and Shireen’s to shame.

Sansa stretched over the blanket, patting the ground beside her in a silent invitation. “Just lay with me.” she whispered. “I’m so tired.”

Jon complied, lying beside her and draping the blankets so they were covered evenly, the warmth that rushed over them almost immediate. Jon smiled, feeling Sansa inch towards him until she was enveloped completely in his arms, her body pressed flush against his.

He smiled to himself, thinking that a few days ago he would never have believed that lying upon a bed of grass could be more comfortable than lying on a bed in a top rated suite. But with the cool breeze and Sansa in his arms Jon wished he never had to leave.

“Jon.” Sansa whispered, her voice muffled by the folds of his jacket. He kissed the top of her head, feeling her hands close into fists in the fabric of his collar. “Jon…promise me you will not react.”

All at once his fear and displeasure returned. “What do you mean, Sansa?” asked he, unsure, her body having stiffened in his arms until she was still as stone. He had suddenly returned to anticipating the worst, anxiety twisting like a sickness in his stomach.

“Look…” she said. “Look at me, I mean.”

He held her at arms distance, looking down into her face. He was suddenly reminded of the days she had spent at the Targaryen household, hiding from Joffrey in a place she knew he would never intrude upon. Jon could still remember the sight of her face riddled with purple and green bruises, her lip split down the middle, her nostrils crusted with blood. It had made him hot with fury then, and, as he looked into her face, he was filled with a mix of emotions so muddled that he could not pick anger from fear from fury.

The swell of her cheek was splotched with colour, a mix of red and yellow, only exacerbated by the golden light. A cut crossed her cheek, so thin that he could barely see it if it had not been run over with blood.

Jon licked his lips, stuttering out a few words so hot with fury that they could not even be understood. He felt Sansa’s fingers twine through his, soft against his rough palms. “I just wanted you to see first.” She said, looking up at him. The haze of the light was almost dream-like, a bit of frost coming down over their shoulders only adding to the picture.

“D-did Robert-“ he whispered through gritted teeth.

“No.” Sansa said. “Not Robert.”

Jon needed not continue for he knew then who had struck his wife. “I’m sorry.” He whispered. His head fell lightly against hers, her brow bumping his as he curled closer to her. “I’m sorry.”

“It doesn’t hurt.” She professed. “I promise is doesn’t. Just a bit shocking. I overheard a conversation between them. Robert is…awful, no surprise there.”

“It’s not the first time he’s been so to her.” said Jon. “Father tries to step in and at times the King will back down but there are other times…” he paused, his hand curled against her lower back like a kitten nuzzling it’s owner. “I saw him throw her into a bookcase once. Broke her arm in two places nearly broke her back.”

Sansa shook her head. “I hate him.” she said. She was desperate to be defiant, to scream the words at the top of her lungs over and over and over until the King heard them. And yet her voice trembled, so low that the words were audible only to Jon, who bobbed his head in response and held her somewhat tighter.

“I wish we could run away.” Jon replied, turning so that he was flat on his back, his eyes up at the stars that shone dully through the rolling crowds. He blinked, a snowflake melting on his cheek and dripping into his eye. “All of us. Just pick up and leave. Dany once took a trip to Meereen and Qarth. Said they were lovely. I’m sure we could find a ship to take us.”

“We could.” Agreed she. Her chin rested on his chest, watching the kiss of snowflakes across his face. “Although Viserys once told me marriage laws are legal there as well- although I think it was his way of flirting with me.” she added, Jon smirking in response. “But we could climb to the top of the Great Pyramids.”

“Swim the Jade Sea.” Jon supplied.

“Arya could take lessons from a real Bravosi swordsman.” She said. “I’m sure her Not-Boyfriend would be happy to be her sparring partner.”

Jon laughed, turning his head so he was able to se Arya sitting in the lap of the very same Not-Boyfriend, curling a strand of his dark hair around her index finger and giggling at whatever Gendry was whispering to her. His laughter only grew at the image his mind had conjured up of Arya and Gendry wrestling each other to the ground after Arya struck Gendry one too many times with her blade.

Sansa suddenly lifted her head, the laughter that had torn through her body abruptly stopped. Her eyes had gone wide as saucers, the smile on her face eerily frozen. “What is it?” asked Jon, pushing himself up onto his elbows.

“Sh!” she said, putting a hand up to stop him. Jon could hear something, a whisper of movement, a low thrum of voices. Suddenly Sansa was on her feet, but not before Arya and Gendry had pushed back their chair and begun to hurry across the grass, booted feet pushing through piles of snow easily.

Bran lifted his head, startled by the sudden movement. “Wait here, B.” Sansa instructed. “Stay with him Shireen.” The girl nodded, looking between Sansa and Arya’s fading back in discomfort.

By the time Sansa had finished speaking Jon had pulled himself to his feet, his ears picking up the rising voices clearly now. Arya and Gendry were hiding around the hall corner; their backs to the wall, heads cocked so they could better hear the conversation. Sansa slipped in beside them, crouching when she realized the space was not fit for all of them as Robb and Dany had also snuck in to join them, the worried looks across their faces matching Sansa’s.

She dared not even breathe, so close to the argument that she knew any single movement they made could be heard. She had recognized her father’s voice even from beyond the hall, even from across the yard, the anger in his voice surprising her.

The Hand of the King was known for his even tone and calm demeanor but now…It unsettled her to hear him speaking so, a chill running down her spine.

“-you insult me!” Eddard Stark said. He made no effort to hide neither volume nor anger of his voice. “Betray my honour in such blatant fashion. In my own home none the less.”

“Ned-“

“Enough Robert.” Said Ned. There was a pause so long that Sansa’s heart nearly stopped beating, thinking that her father had noticed their presence. “My son is wed. Wed before the witness of a Septon and of my daughter, and should that not be enough to sate you. You have had my word. A word which has never faltered, never been false, never been tested by you until now. I have promised many times that my son is wed, legally, before the eyes of Gods and men. Yet you doubt me.”

“You I do not doubt.” Robert interrupted. His voice was loud enough to make Sansa flinch from it, shrinking back. “However, when I have only the word of two young-“

“The Hand’s daughter and the Master of Coin’s son, you mean.” Countered Ned.

“Yes! When I have only their word and the promise of a Septon who has disappeared into thin air from one moment to the next what can I do? What am I to say to Tywin, who whispers to me every day-”

“So Tywin Lannister is King now?” asked Ned. “It is he who rules Westeros? I had no idea.”

“Ned you are being purposefully difficult.”

“And you, you drunken fool, threaten the livelihood of my son. Of my _family_.”

Robert paused again. Sansa wished she could see his face but dare not turn round the corner lest she risk being seen. Again. “I thought we were family, Ned. You were family to me before I had one.”

“And yet you insult me so?” came Ned. The sound of footsteps meant he was pacing, a nervous habit he had long ago quit trying to force away. “You told me never to speak of what was done to my daughter. My eldest. My first born daughter.” His voice was so deep and gruff that Sansa’s stomach clenched. She had never heard her father so angry.

Dany jumped when Jon put his hand on her shoulder, his eyes hard. Her stomach churned. She felt so foolish. She had thought it would be simple. She had just thought they were following the laws that the King had put into place. She had never thought the fallout from her and Robb’s marriage would be so great as to divide the oldest friends in Westeros.

“You asked me not to mention it. You told me how sorry you were and how it was being dealt with. And yet here we stand. Tywin and Cersei challenging my daughter’s marriage so that she will be brought back to him.” Eddard spat, purposefully avoiding the name that made Sansa flinch unconsciously. “How could you do that to me?” he shouted. “To my daughter? My daughter that came home with bruises on her arms, swollen eyes, broken noses. My daughter whom you never apologized to, by the way.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around her knees, resting her chin upon them. She could feel her friend’s eyes on her back. She knew the thoughts that were running through their minds, the things they were remembering, all the memories that were being regurgitated back up by her father and the King.

“I just don’t…I don’t know what to say Ned. I don’t…”

“You don’t have to say anything.” He had ceased to yell, his voice dangerously low. “I’ve had enough of this. I am done. Leave my son and my daughter be, Robert. I won’t say it again.”

When Robert did not respond Sansa flinched upon hearing Cersei’s voice. “I think it’s time we went home, Robert.” She said softly.

There was an agonizingly long pause before Robert growled, “You forget who you speak to, Ned.”


	31. Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-One

It was a long and simple few days that followed the Christmas Eve celebration at the Stark household. There were only a handful of guests, dropping by sporadically to leave gifts and accept the cookies Catelyn, Arya, and Bran had baked, before leaving the household once more to be empty and quiet. It was how Sansa liked it, just the sounds of the laughter of family, the ticking of the oven timer, and the crackling of the flickering fire to fill her ears.

She lay on her back upon the living room floor, wedged between the Christmas tree and Jon, whom she had pulled down to lie beside her. Together they stared up at the needles of the tree and the glittering ornaments they had hung at the start of the month, watching as the lights faded and turned back on every thirty seconds.

Last night it had been hard to clear her mind, to try and force away the memories of her father’s argument with the King. She had curled n her bed, heavy under a layer of blankets, the air that filtered in through the open window cool on her face, and thought. She had not asked Jon to stay, knowing it would not be something her father would approve of, but for now all she wished was to reach out and curl her fingers through his hair or run her fingertips across the scar beneath his lip.

She had not known it had been longer than an hour but soon the sun shone orange on the horizon and it was Christmas morning. Grinning widely she pushed away all negative thoughts and threw back her covers before running to Arya’s room across the hall. The girl had pulled her blankets almost completely over her head and stared up at Sansa after the eldest Stark girl leaped onto the bed, her body weight full on Arya. “What are you-“ Arya growled, glaring up at her through bleary eyes.

“It’s Christmas!” Sansa interrupted.

Arya sat up and nearly knocked Sansa off the bed, her face light with a smile. Impatiently Sansa waited while Arya donned her Christmas pyjamas- red and green plaid with socks that bore a thousand striped candy canes- and together they ran to Bran’s room.

It was only a few more minutes before all of the Stark children had been roused, Bran with the intrigue of whether or not he would be gifted a set of new chess men, Rickon with the promise of half eaten cookies and a note from Santa Clause, and Robb with a pillow tossed at his head and Sansa’s face peppering his with kisses. They waited anxiously for their parents to ready themselves but it was not a long wait, Catelyn often rising early to prepare the Christmas feast she was to serve for supper. And Eddard- once more in his handmade Christmas jumper was not long to rise after that, nervously awaiting his children’s reactions to the gifts he had picked out for them.

Sansa carried Rickon, whose small fists rubbed his tired eyes, his footed pyjamas crested with the cartoonish face of Santa Clause. He had been difficult to put to sleep the previous night, so excited by the prospect of gifts and magic and family the next day that sleep would not come for hours. Finally Catelyn had given up and allowed him to crawl into Robb’s bed, though she warned that if she stayed up too light Santa Clause might see that he stirred and not deliver his gifts. After that Rickon had fallen into a sound sleep gripping his reindeer stuffed animal and had been carried back to bed by Robb, who kissed his forehead as he laid him down.

Ned delivered the first gift, offering a small wrapped parcel to his wife, his eyes wide as he watched her. Without a second glance Sansa had known that her father had not fared better in sleep than she had, the circles beneath his eyes dark and deep and did not disappear even with the large cup of coffee he tucked into. Catelyn marveled at the diamond pendant he had bought, holding up her crimson hair so he could fasten it around her neck, her cheeks glowing with a pleasant blush.

And all at once the gift-opening bonanza began. A pile of wrapping paper that stood almost to Robb’s waist filled their living room as every Stark began to pull their gifts from beneath the tree and pass them to the person whose name was written on the gift tag. Sansa was given a set of leather bound journals from Bran and a silver pendant from her mother, a set of pale leather gloves having been tucked into the folds of the sweater. From Rickon she found a box of chocolate reindeer and a set of playing cards- perhaps in the hopes that she might play with him- and from Robb’s extended package she found a beautiful copy of the Death of Dragons that was so old and worn its pages nearly turned to dust as she flipped through it. But she loved it nevertheless; excited to delve into the pages and read everything she could about the old dragon tamers of Asshai.

She watched as her family opened their presents. Robb found the gilded iron direwolf keychain she had ordered for him, having spent hours on the phone in order to give the blacksmith the exact specifications for the Stark crest, Arya gifted a foil polishing kit and a set of expensive cotton gloves in creamy white, Bran the set of brilliant jade chessmen she had teased, and Rickon a pair of woolen socks she had knit for him and an engraved crown of fool’s gold that he could use when he pretended to be King of Westeros while parading through the house.

After their gifts were found breakfast was served and when Catelyn tried to prod her husband for more information on the argument between he and Robert Baratheon Ned Stark set down his napkin and very firmly said, “Not today. Not on Christmas.” The rest of the Starks pretended they had not heard this, turning back to their plates and continuing to marvel and express thanks for their gifts.

The Targaryen’s arrived just before midday, their arms piled high with gifts that Sansa had not expected. Even though their families had been friends for tens of years they had never been together on Christmas. Rhaegar often spent the day in Small Council meetings or with the King’s family and though Jon or Dany often come bearing gifts the Targaryen clan had never spent the day with the Starks.

Even Viserys was in high spirits, greeting Sansa with a kiss on either of her cheeks and wishing her a happy Christmas. Standing at her brother’s side Daenerys hugged Sansa tightly, the embrace her best friend gave more comfort to each girl than the other knew. Daenerys was worried about what might come of her marriage to Robb and ever since they had overheard the argument between Ned and Robert her worries had not been alleviated.

Sansa smiled shyly at the sight of Jon. He wore a scarlet pattered jumper in and a pair of jeans, his worn boots slightly parted to show his woolen socks were almost the same shade of green as the jumper her mother had gifted her. He looked quite nice, she thought. The way he had combed back his messy hair and trimmed his dark beard made heat filter through her. She was suddenly very aware of the fact that everyone in the room knew that they had been thrown together in a hotel suite to consummate their marriage just days earlier. In response she stepped forward to offer a polite, if chaste, hug, though before she was aware of what had overcome her she had melted into his embrace, the firmness of his arms around her making her feel all at once safe and happy.

“I got you a gift.” He whispered. His words were just for her.

She nodded. “I left your gift in my room. I’ll go up to get it.” she said loudly.

Seeming to read the signals of her voice her mother looked up, quickly adding. “You can go up too, Jon.” said she. “We’re just mulling about down here.”

She smiled in thanks and moved away from the living room with Jon at her heels, ascending the wooden staircase towards her room at the end of the hall. Once they were up the stairs and behind the closed and locked door of her bedroom Sansa turned, facing Jon.

At once he closed the space between them. His mouth was warm upon hers, tasting honey sweet and spiced by the wine he had drunk and the cookies he had eaten. Her hands wrapped around his waist, pulling him close to her, his hands cupping her face so she was looking up at him lovingly. She pressed her eyes closed, melting completely in his hands like putty left out in the hot sun.

“I missed you.” She breathed. It was almost laughable how much she had ached for him the past night, as though she had not lived a lifetime before she had been his and he had been hers.

He kissed her again, feather soft, his lips just brushing against her parted mouth. “And I you.” He returned. “Come and see.” He said, taking her hand and pulling her towards the bed so he would be able to sit beside her. He took a wrapped parcel from his pocket and offered it to her, the sloppily patched paper and bow proving that he had wrapped it himself. But she loved it anyway, mismatched edges and jagged corners.

She undid the bow slowly, wanting to both savor every moment of it and hurry to unwrap it. It was a box, small enough to fit into the palm of her hand, but heavier than she had expected. Jon sat at her side, brimming with nervousness, his tongue darting out to lick his bottom lip.

She flipped open the lid of the box and let out a stifled gasp, her eyes flicking up to look at him. “Jon…” she said. “You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” He said. A smile flickered over his features, his eyes sparkling like obsidian. Sansa looked down at the ring, lifting it from the silk cushion that lay at the bottom of the box. “It’s real.” He said, holding up her hand so he could take the simple silver band from her ring finger and setting it onto the bed. She could remember the way he had pushed it onto her finger at their wedding, his hands shaking so imperceptibly that even she could barely see.

And now it was the same, his hands, so callused and strong, trembling as he took the ring from her and set it upon her finger. “It’s real.” He repeated. “Not for show. It was my grandmothers.” He said. The ring was shining silver and lined with a series of small white stones, as clear as glass. In the middle sat a larger stone, shining beneath the lamplight overhead. “I wanted you…I _want_ you to have it. I’m in this with you, San. I want to be with you, real or not real, I don’t care. I love you.”

She was crying, Sansa realized, hastily wiping away the tears that flooded her eyes. A flush had filled her face, only deepening at the realization that she was on the verge of sobbing like a bloody idiot. But Jon didn’t seem to mind, using the pad of his thumb to wipe away a tear.

She wanted to confess her love. She wanted to tell him how much she loved him, how much she wanted to hold him and kiss him and wrap herself in his embrace. She wanted to thank him for being so kind to her all those years, for stepping in to save her from King Robert’s cruel marriage law. But all she could say between her muffled sobs was, “It is real. It’s…it’s real.”

They lay together in Sansa’s bed for a few minutes, curled in each other’s arms, reduced to a tangle of arms and legs and blankets. When she had risen that morning she had forgotten to latch the window and it was left the window open. Outside a fluff of snow begun to fall, blanketing the city in a layer of white and as it was too cold for anyone to spend more than a minute or two outside the city had gone quiet. It was peaceful, Sansa’s head laid upon his chest so that she could hear the dull pounding of his heart beneath her ear.

She pressed a kiss to the tip of his nose, grinning like a fool when she saw heat flood his face all the way down his neck. “I got you a gift as well.” She said. “But its going to look bloody stupid next to yours.”

“I’m sure I will love it.” he said.

She tore herself from his arms begrudgingly and went to her desk, digging around in the drawer for the gift she had tucked away a few days before. “It’s um…it’s really not much, I mean. I t-thought you would like it.”

She laid the package in his lap and watched nervously as he tore away the bow she had wrapped and the paper that enveloped the cream coloured box. He pulled the jumper from the box and held it up to his chest. Sansa began to babble nervously, “I m-made it myself. I do hope it fits.” She said. “I tried to measure you while you were sleeping but…”

“I thought I dreamt that.” He laughed. Jon leaned over to kiss her cheek, his warm breath dancing across her face and making her blush.

“I wanted you to have it.” she stuttered nervously. “You are a Stark too now. We all have one. My mum used to make them for us as children.”

Jon pulled off his coat and pulled it over his head, feeling the soft fabric rub against his skin soft as silk. She had specifically picked out the crimson yarn to match his house’s colours, the small Targaryen sigil she had sewn upon the breast of the jumper embroidered in black string. “I love it.” Jon announced. Suddenly his brow creased as he looked more closely at the dragon sigil, realizing it was not quite as it seemed. The crimson dragon was intertwined with something and upon closer inspection Jon recognized the gray direwolf of House Stark. “I can’t believe you made this.” Said he. “It’s lovely.”

When they descended the stairs once more they found the Stark and Targaryen broods had broken apart. Catelyn, Elia, and Rickon were in the kitchen preparing breakfast, Viserys was whispering into his phone in hushed tones, Daenerys and Robb were cuddled together on the sofa, Bran and Arya were battling in chess, and Rhaegar and Ned had retired to his study, leaving Sansa and Jon to their own devices.

She laid with Jon upon the crimson rug on the living room floor, staring up at the needles of the Christmas tree and the ornaments they had hung at the start of the month. She tried to force the thoughts of her father’s argument out of her mind, tried to ignore the way the King had spat his words at his Hand as though they were poison he was trying to rid himself of. She found the same thoughts in Jon, for his dark eyes betrayed his thoughts almost immediately, staring down at the parcels in his hands like they were alien creatures.

But when it came time to break their fast they were at once in good spirits, passing bowls and plates and cups of tea across the table as they found for the last piece of black pudding and Catelyn’s last homemade cinnamon buns.

It was wonderful, thought Jon. He could not remember a day when he had had so much fun. Well…not since his wedding night, though he forced that thought very quickly from his mind when Ned looked up at him and seemed to be reading his mind. Or perhaps he had just seen the blush on Jon’s face and reckoned he should tease him about it.

Jon’s hand rested upon Sansa’s knee beneath the table and in that moment he was so happy and so in love, that he even agreed to give his wife half of the cinnamon bun he had snagged from the plate as Bran and Arya were arguing over it.


	32. Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Two

The day after Christmas Sansa was so tired that she slept for sixteen hours without waking once. When she was finally roused from sleep she awoke to find her house was once again full, though this time far less boisterous. Her head pounded, her mouth tasting sour and bitter. All at once memories began to filter back to her and her headache only grew.

She remembered that the previous night she _might_ have had ten or fifteen cups too much of eggnog and had ended up passed out on the couch, half in Jon’s lap, half on top of Daenerys, who in turn had been lying on Robb, who in turn had slumped onto Arya, who was not quite as drunk and therefore not pleased to be squished into a Stark-Targaryen sandwich.

Images of Sansa singing loudly- and badly- along with the karaoke machine her mother had given to Daenerys for Christmas came back to her, as well as the fact that she and Bran had competed to see who could stick the most lady fingers into their mouth. Too drunk to care then, she was sure now that with twenty-two lady fingers stuffed into her mouth she had to be one of the least sexiest she had ever been in front of a man she liked. But Jon had his fare share of eggnog as well and had only laughed and egged her on as she reached for more cookies. He had then ended up roasting marshmallows while dressed as Santa Clause and accidently almost setting the living room on fire when the marshmallow he had been roasting had caught fire and, panicking, he had flicked it off his skewer and into the curtains.

Benjen Stark had had a field day at the sight of his two favourite relatives plastered beyond recognition, finding Robb and Sansa poured in each others arms around two o’clock in the morning and crying as they watched an old copy of the Fox and the Hound they had found at the bottom of Rickon’s toy chest.

However, they were not the only ones to end up fall down drunk at the end of the night. Ashara, always the melancholy drunk, had ended the night curled into a ball on Brandon’s lap sniffling and eating marshmallows. Benjen and Lyanna had thrown each other into the pool and then- upon remembering it was the midst of winter and the water was below zero- had run screaming into the house to then throw themselves into the bathtub so they could pour hot water over themselves.

Even Catelyn and Eddard had gotten a bit sloshed, slow dancing in the midst of the living room for almost an hour even though there was nothing but old Christmas carols playing and then, after Robin Arryn had seized control, loud new-wave electronic music.

There was a shockingly loud groan and Sansa jumped, letting out a shout of fright and then clasping her hands over her head. A blistering headache hammered away at her and through her blurry eyes she had not realized that both Jon and Daenerys were tucked on either side of her in the bed, sandwiching her between them. She had mistaken their bodies for pillows, remembering the last time that she had gotten drunk at a family party and ended up being tucked into bed by her mother who had then lined the bed with pillows so she would not fall out during the night.

The Targaryen’s were still fast asleep, Daenerys snoring loudly and Jon with his pillow half over his head to block out the sunlight that streamed in through the window over her bed. Sansa’s Christmas gown was tangled around her body in a lumpy mess and she found she was wearing only one boot, wondering absently where the second had disappeared.

Crawling gingerly over Jon’s body Sansa swung her legs over the side of the bed to find her brother curled in a ball on the floor, the position in which he lay showing that he must have fallen- or been pushed- from the bed in the midst of the night. Vaguely Sansa remembered having heard a crash and a loud groan but had then been too drunk to care.

Daenerys let out a snore loud enough to cause Jon to jerk awake, her husband letting out a loud groan. Or cough. She had been unable to decipher between the two sounds. He sat up in the bed, looking around in confusion, as though he could not recognize his surroundings. Upon seeing his wife Jon relaxed, the tension in his shoulders giving way to house a weak smile that flickered over his lips. Between the glowing red of his eyes, the smudge of lipstick over his cheek, and the mess of curling dark hair that stuck out in every direction it was not hard to see that he was still partly drunk.

“Did you change my clothes?” he asked. His voice was hoarse, as though it had not been used in weeks. He parted the blankets to show that he was wearing pinstriped pyjamas instead of the jumper and jeans he had gone to sleep with the previous night. Sansa shook her head, knowing she was too drunk to even manage to remove both of her shoes. Jon nodded, pursing his lips. “Well…that is unsettling.”

“With any luck it was your mother.” Sansa replied.

“Oh yes.” Whispered Jon, noting that none of his other sleeping relatives were in pyjamas. “Nothing is more comforting than knowing your mother changed your clothes like you are a giant baby.”

It hurt Sansa’s head to laugh but she could not help it and at the sight of his wife’s uncontrollable laughter Jon began to laugh as well, the two only stopping once Robb groaned loudly, sitting up on the floor and launching his pillow at Sansa. Having not expected the pillow striking her in the back of her aching head she fell forward, landing in Jon’s outstretched arms. He, however, had not expected to be thrown so off balance by her body and the thousand drinks he seemed to have taken the previous night, and they both went tumbling to the ground in a heap.

Sansa let out a groan, Jon weighing heavy as an anvil atop her, his arms pinned beneath her body. In their state of slight intoxication it took them merely two minutes to untangle their limbs and get to their feet, Sansa whispering for Jon to wait a moment so that she could remove her Christmas dress. It smelled of vegetable dip, her aunt Lysa’s perfume, and thickly enough of beer that it seemed as though she had been bathed in the stuff.

Once she had shed her dress for a pair of pyjama pants and a jumper she joined Jon in their quest for the kitchen. Walking through the house they saw various Starks and Stark guests were scattered in various states of undress and drunkenness. Benjen Stark was curled on one of the patio chairs with Arianne in his arms and on the chair beside them Oberyn was lying facedown beside Ellaria, the four covered in a thick blanket to keep them from freezing to death in the night.

Lysa and Robin Arryn were sleeping on the sofa in the living room, Jon Arryn sleeping soundly in one of the cushioned chairs with an empty teacup on the table beside him. Even Ashara was red faced and sleeping, her medical bag sitting beside her on the table, with a bottle of aspirin and an empty bandage wrapper. Sansa wondered who had gotten hurt this year.

At first Sansa had assumed Arya was asleep in her room but upon walking into the kitchen she saw that the girl was quietly sipping at a cup of tea and thumbing through the morning paper. “Good morning.” greeted Arya happily. She turned in her chair so she was looking at them, a widening grin upon her face. “You two look wonderful.” Jon and Sansa groaned in unison, finding seats beside her at the counter. “I’ll make some coffee then. Do you want anything, Gen?”

“What?” Jon asked, lying his head upon the cold marble of the counter.

“Not you.” Said Arya. She kicked at something with her foot and upon closer inspection Sansa realized it was a shoe and the shoe belonged to Gendry, who was sleeping on his back upon the dining room carpet. Sansa’s face filled with a flush, remembering the previous night when she had sat atop the piano Gendry was playing at and the pair had sung loudly, and badly, to Piano Man.

Then Gendry, Jon, and Robb wrestling like they were in grade school again. “What are you doing?” asked Jon as Sansa lifted up the arm of his long sleeved shirt. Just as she had suspected a bandage wrapped around his forearm.

“You fell in the fool last night.” She said. “Cut your arm on the gravel on the way down.”

He dropped his head in his hands. “Your parents are going to think I’m an idiot.” He grumbled.

Arya and Gendry exchanged a suspiciously specific glance and Jon followed it, looking worried at what was coming next. “What?” he said. “Did I do something worse than fall in the pool and have my clothes change by my mum?”

Another glance between Arya and Gendry. “Well…” she said, looking unusually uncomfortable. It was then that Sansa knew it was going to be bad, for on any other day Arya would have jumped at the chance to tease the pair. “You did tell Benjen that you and Sansa had not yet completed the…parameters of the wedding law.” She continued when Sansa and Jon’s blank faces showed they did not follow, “Vis-à-vis the…um…the consummation part of it…”

Sansa wished the earth below her feet would open up and swallow her. Her face burned, red as the ceramic coffee mug Arya slide over the counter towards her. The thought that her father was thinking about her and Jon…She wanted to die.

“Dad was too drunk to understand what you were saying.” Arya added quickly when Sansa looked like she might vomit. The youngest Stark girl turned to Jon, waiting until he took a large gulp of coffee before she went on. “And you didn’t actually _fall_ into the pool, Jon. Um…Sansa had heard you say that to Uncle Benjen and dad and actually _pushed_ you in.”

Jon looked at Sansa, her blush only deepening. Her thought for a moment before taking another long sip of his hot coffee. “Well I think we’re about even.” He said finally, patting her hand with his.

In a matter of minutes Arya had dug up a bottle of aspirin from Ashara’s bag, which Sansa downed quickly. Then, invigorated by the coffee, set to work on making the hangover cure Benjen so often raved about, pulling things from shelves and laying them over the counter.

“Roasted garlic?” Jon asked, eyeing the container of mashed garlic. “And…pickle juice?”

“Don’t forget about the chocolate.” Said Arya, once more looking amused at their suffering. “The sweet really emphasizes the bitterness of the deviled egg mix.”

“Tastes like hell-“ Sansa warned, handing out the cups of ugly green liquid to the drunken men in the room. “But it helps.”

Jon took his cup and looked warily at it, swallowing a large gulp and letting out a half gasp, half scream. “Tastes like hell.“ he said, wiping his mouth and looking queasy.

Sansa broke into laughter. “Now we’re even.” She said. She leaned forward to kiss the very tip of his nose, the mischief in her eyes noticeable, and slid a cup of clear liquid across the counter. “Here’s the real one.”

Arya and Gendry laughed loud enough to cause Ashara to stir and Jon spat what remained of the concoction into the sink. “I want a divorce.” He teased, taking her in his arms with a one armed embrace.

“Well if you don’t complete what’s left of the rule you’ll have one.” Arya added, striding to the refrigerator and pulling out a carton of apple juice.

“What did you put in it?” Gendry asked, sniffing it and looking visible disgusted.

Sansa looked at the ingredients she had put on the counter. “Lemon, roasted garlic, oregano, chocolate, deviled egg mix, ranch dressing, breakfast tea, and mint.” She said, her stomach beginning to ache from laughing so hard. “I can’t believe you actually drank it.”

With the rest of the Starks beginning to slowly awaken and mill about the house Catelyn and Lyanna Stark set about to making breakfast, serving a still queasy Sansa and Jon with a full fry up featuring fried bread, black pudding, baked beans, and a rasher of bacon. Sansa could have vomited at the sight of it. “Just eat it.” her mother prodded.

At her side Lyanna agreed, saying: “The grease absorbs the alcohol.”

Too weak to protest Sansa dipped her fork into the food, looking sickeningly at the way the yolk Jon had broken ran across the plate like a river. Both husband and wife ate meagerly, wary of the pounding of their heads and the nausea that curled through their stomachs. But by the time Sansa got halfway through the meal she knew Lyanna had been right for the grease did the trick and slowly but surely she began to feel less like vomiting- although her fatigue did not so easily subside.

“I’m quite tired.” She said once she had finished eating and thanked her family for the meal. “Do you mind if I excuse myself?”

They accepted her invitation and as Sansa made her way up the stairs she knew Jon had gotten the signals she was trying to send for she heard his bare feet pad up the stairs behind her.

On her way to the stairs she passed Gendry, who was fast asleep against the legs of Arya’s chair- despite Arya’s prodding, Oberyn who was lying on his stomach on the patio chair that had mysteriously been pulled into the middle of the living room, and Arianne, who was now using her lipstick to draw scarlet hearts on Benjen’s forehead. The other doors that lined the hall were closed and Sansa knew her brothers had not yet woken, for she could see the red and yellow dancing lights of Rickon’s nightlight glowing beneath his door and the dull thumping of Bran’s telly was able to be heard as she pressed her ear against the door, wondering if Shireen had spent the night.

Once she reached her door Sansa remembered that Robb and Daenerys were still sleeping and frowned. “The guest house is empty?” she said. “I think anyway. Who knows who might be sleeping in there.”

Sansa could have thanked the Gods to find the small guesthouse behind the Stark household was empty besides the boxes of Christmas decorations her mother had taken down from the attic as she was decorating for the holiday. Sansa turned the knob on the heater and heard it roar to life, shivering as the cold air of the unused house circulated around her.

She could feel Jon wrap his arms around her and despite the fact that his lips tasted vaguely like ranch dressing and he was wearing child like pyjamas, it was no longer so funny. Her heart thudded in her chest, her stomach feeling warm and tight at the feel of his body against her back, his arm crossed against her front so his bandaged forearm rested in the concavity between her breasts. He could feel her heart beneath his arm, his hand resting upon her shoulder so he could pull her comfortably against him.

“Are you really worried?” she asked. The heat had not yet permeated through the air and her breath came out in a mist. She remembered the night of their forced wedding. He had been so different from how she had become accustomed to seeing him over the years, unclothed and awaiting her, all hard angles and sharp plains, broad and flexed. “About the law?”

Jon turned her body so that she was facing him, her fingers rising automatically to brush away a dark curl from his eyes. “Never.” he whispered, her thumb brushing against his cheek.

His body felt good beneath her hands, his broad shoulders tightening beneath her palms, the way she had been able to count the ridges of his belly and feel them against her own with every breath she took. At once she was no longer tired, no longer hungover, no longer drunk on anything but the languid movement of his lips as he spoke. Heat flushed her face and other parts of her as well, the apples of her cheeks glowing pink and bright, though it had nothing to do with the cold air that was beginning to dissipate in the room as the heater clicked higher.

Jon was suddenly aware of the fact that he had locked the door to the guesthouse upon entering. It had been a conditioned response, one he had adopted after finding out that Robin Arryn often burst in upon her while she was changing to later claim it was accidental.

Sansa planted a kiss upon his jaw. Her mouth lingered, warm and soft and sweet from her honeyed tea, her long lashes fluttering light as the wisps of a feather against his cheeks. She intoxicated him, Jon as drunk on the feeling of her hips beneath his palms, the way her body writhed against him, how her crimson hair felt like silk as it slipped between his fingers, as he had been the previous night.

Pulling her jumper over her head Jon realized with a start that Sansa was wearing nothing beneath, the baggy fabric of the cable knit sweater disguising what had lain under. Her tongue darted out to run across his bottom lip, her hands skating down his belly to fall to his zipper. He shivered, watching the way her crimson hair spilled over her bare, freckled shoulders and thinking it was more seductive than any thing he had seen before.

Jon gasped when she felt his hands dip beneath the waistband of his pants to take him in her warm hand, the feel of her soft fingers against him enough to make his head loll back. Lifting her into his arms Jon carried her towards the guest bed in the adjoining room, glad that the curtains were closed for he was sure he could not tear himself from her even at the risk of being seen through the open window.

Jon laid her upon the bed, lifting his shirt over his head and looking down to find she wore nothing but knickers, all white lace and thin, delicate fabric. It was enough to drive him wild with temptation, reminding him of when he had been a teenager, still a green boy and new to the lusts and pleasures of the fairer sex.

Hooking his fingers through the hips of her knickers he pulled until there was nothing to separate him from the thatch of crimson at the base of her thighs, the desire to kiss her there growing so great that he could do nothing but obey.

“Jon.” Sansa said, breathless as she pushed herself up on her elbows. “I haven’t…n-not this, I mean. I d-don’t know how to d-do it. I don’t want you to think I-”

Jon gaped. Any man who would have been with her and not kissed here there, not touched here there, not given his every breath and every effort to give her pleasure there…he could not even comprehend such a foolish thing.

“Hush now.” he whispered, bending his head to press a feather light kiss to the flat of her thigh, grinning as he watched gooseflesh riddle down her skin in response to the touch. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want, my love.”

Sansa looked at him, her expression curiously blank. She had never before heard those words. Joffrey, who had always managed to talk her into things, wearing her down until she allowed him to do the things he had seen on the net or on the telly, certainly had never said them.

His eyes danced with the sight of his wife wearing nothing but the ring he had gifted her and he continued on with the train of warm, wet kisses he trailed down her body. She let out a gasp, having blindly gone along with his motions, allowing him to drape her leg over his shoulder so that her heel bounced absently against the back of his shoulder with every move.

She could feel his mouth moving against the part of her that had never been touched. The feeling that she was his and his alone made temptation rise within him like fire coiling like a snake through his belly. A twin heat bloomed through her, budding where his mouth touched her, the unshorn stubble of a beard he had grown making her toes curl.

The pad of his tongue dragged down her inner thigh before he planted another kiss against her, her taste as sweet as he had imagined. Jon watched her, trying to memorize the way she threw her head backward so her crimson hair was spilling across her pillow or her hands had closed into fists as she gripped the cotton sheets. She shuddered beneath him and she let out a soft cry as she met her peak, her cheeks blanched scarlet.

The look of embarrassment etched on her face made him grin. “I’ve never…not like that I mean. That was…” said she, the blush on her face half made by pleasure, half by embarrassment.

Pulling him towards her Sansa could feel the weight of his body heavy and firm against hers, his skin glittering with a thin sheet of sweat his excitement had worked up. It had not been long since their wedding night and yet, as Jon held her in his arms and felt her hips rise to press against his, it felt as thought it had been months.

Over the previous moments Jon had become quite familiar with her moans but not she with his, for when he let out a dull moan Sansa felt the sound go straight through her, her teeth biting into her bottom lip to keep her from crying out. She lifted her head to kiss him, deep and long and warm, and even if she had not said she loved him her kiss would have said the same. She nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth, biting gently so that he let out a low, almost animalistic groan.

One of his hands was on the hip of her willowy frame, having moved slowly at first before she found her way to match his rhythm, the grind of her hips against him agonizingly pleasurable. He could feel her body tense in his arms and knew she would soon reach the peak of her pleasure again and could only smile upon realizing they would do so together, as they did so many other things.

She lay on her side beside him, the swell of her breast soft and smooth as a painter’s rendering, her nipple so perfectly pink he could have kissed it once more. Her eyes were lolling closed, blinking back fatigue.

“Jon.” she said, reaching out to catch his hand as he stroked her arm, planting a kiss to the inside of her elbow. A tear glistened in her eye despite her efforts to blink it away. “I love you. I wish I had a better way of saying it…but I do. More than I ever…I love you.”


	33. Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Three

“W-what?” asked Sansa Stark. She had been so completely occupied with trying to school her face into neutrality that she had been unable to concentrate on the words of Elia Targaryen as she spoke to the girl. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Targaryen. I did not catch that.”

Elia smiled prettily from her place across the kitchen island, her palms flat against the cool marble. Sansa was relieved to know the woman was too polite to comment on the utterly noticeable shade of crimson Sansa’s face had become, quite thankful for the woman’s tact for Sansa was sure that if it had been anyone else they would already have snapped a photo.

“I was hoping you and Jon could run to the store.” repeated the woman. “I’ve got a few things to return to the shoppe but I’ve got too busy a week ahead of me so I don’t think I’ll be able to do so.”

“Oh.” Said Sansa. “Just g-go to the store? Yes. I’d love to. I think Jon is f-free.”

She licked her bottom lip nervously. What a fool she was being, standing in the kitchen of the Targaryen household looking as guilty as though she had just stolen something, so nervous that she looked almost on the verge of sweating.

“Thank you dear.” said Elia, reaching over to squeeze her hand affectionately.

The Dornish woman was so beautiful that Sansa could not help but be nervous, tugging awkwardly at her skirt and wondering if the woman would find it too short and running her fingers through her unbraided hair. The woman was a top barrister, dressed in a neat striped suit and a pair of short heels, her briefcase polished leather and as spotless as the purse she carried in her other hand. Standing so close to the woman Sansa realized she had found the source of Jon’s dark hair and his long, batting lashes, as well as his never wavering politeness.

Sansa’s eyes wandered up the stairs, silently screaming for Jon to dress more quickly and not to leave her making awkward small talk with his mother for a moment longer. Especially since Elia had told her that if she and Jon ever needed a private place to stay for the night that her brother owned a cabin in the midst of the Northern forest, far from any prying eyes. At first it had been sweet and Sansa had smiled but then realized that Elia had put a heavy emphasis on _night_ , leaving Sansa’s face to burn in embarrassment.

She and Jon had made plans the previous day to spend the afternoon at the mall, returning the gift that she had bought for Rickon, only to realize that Bran had bought the boy the exact same present. But when she had arrived at the Targaryen household she had found Jon curled beneath his blankets, so heavily asleep that even when Sansa had stumbled over a pair of shoes he had left in the middle of the floor and had cried out in pain upon landing on her knee when she fell he had not awoken.

“Jon.” she had whispered. Her husband had not even stirred. “Jon.” she repeated, louder then. And again, even louder, then louder, then louder but she found he still had not awoken.

Sansa sighed. Arya was also a very heavy sleeper and Sansa had found many ways to wake her up over the years. Adopting one of these practices she crawled on top of him, pinning down his arms with her legs and leaning over him until her face was just over his. Heat rushed across her face and all through her body and she realized for the first time that sitting on top of Jon was _very_ different from sitting on top of Arya.

Jon’s eyes had fluttered open, looking up at her in confusion and then in interest, a dark eyebrow quirking. “If this is a late Christmas present I think that it is my favourite one.” He teased, pushing himself up onto his elbows so that he was able to press a kiss to her waiting lips, grinning at the sight of the red flush that had settled over her pale cheeks. Sansa ran her tongue across his bottom lip, thinking that perhaps is Elia was not home they would have completed Robert’s three a month rule right then and there.

Waiting downstairs for him to shower briefly and dress Sansa had run into Viserys, who raised his silver eyebrows and looked smug, as though he knew very well what had been done the previous day while she and Jon had been locked in the Stark guesthouse.

“Jon has the keys to the car.” Said Elia when she had finished mixing cream and sugar into her coffee. “I’m off to the office. If you need anything do not hesitate to call, dear. Jon knows the number.”

“Thank you. I’ll see you at…at the…when you…come home.” Said Sansa before shaking her head; sure she had never had a more uncomfortable conversation than this one. Then again….

Sansa thought back to the previous day when she and Jon had returned to the Stark household from the guest house to find half a hundred eyes were upon them, looking at the pair as though they had the words ‘we just had sex’ marked across their foreheads. Luckily Catelyn and Ned had not been present, leaving the exchange just slightly less uncomfortable as Sansa had come face to face with Oberyn Martell, whom, when she was eight years old, she had told she wanted to marry, Ashara Dayne, whom had just given her a bag of now useful moon tea, and Brandon Stark, who cleared his throat uncomfortably and turned back to his plate of eggs.

Sansa walked Elia to the door, uttering a quick apology. “I don’t mean to seem so awkward.” She professed. “I feel a bit strange after the events of…the law.”

Elia waved her away. “Think nothing of it, dear.” She smiled softly. “I can still remember meeting Rhaegar’s father when I was your age. I was so nervous I tripped over my skirt and went face first into his birthday cake. To this day he still calls me Elia Fell-ia.”

Sansa laughed, glad to be rid of the tension that had plagued the previous half hour of their conversation. She did not mention that the first time she had met Joffrey’s parents King Robert had been so drunk that he had groped her, his large hand squeezing so firmly on her arse that it left a purple bruise in the shape of a hand for nearly a week. And that Cersei had seen the exchange and spent the entirety of the night glaring at Cersei and then, just as Sansa had almost made her escape, had told Joffrey a false version of the story and caused the boy to strike her so hard that she had fallen to the floor.

A few moments after Elia closed and locked the front door behind her Jon came down the stairs, fresh faced and smelling of soap. A widening smile pulled over his face at the sight of her and he took the stairs two at a time until he stood before her, pulling her into his open arms and doing a little spin.

“I missed you.” He said, kissing her cheek.

“It’s been an hour.” She reminded.

“Fifty-nine minutes too long.” Teased he, slipping his phone and wallet into his pocket before reaching for the keys in the glass bowl beside the door.

“Your mum left a list of tasks.” Said Sansa. “And a few things to return. She said she had them put in the car last night.”

A few things, as Elia had said, turned out to be half a hundred parcels of assorted sizes, one as small as Sansa’s fist and another so large Jon could barely see out of his rear view mirror as he backed out of the car park. “Mum always loved Christmas.” He mused, wrestling to adjust one of the boxes. “She can get a bit carried away.” he said, the engine roaring to life as he turned the key in the ignition, adjusting the driver’s seat after Viserys had forced it forward. “Where to?”

Sansa looked down at the note, her eyes scanning the list. “A lot of things to return to the mall on First.”

“To First it is.” Replied Jon. The sleek black car purred as he pulled out of the car park of the Targaryen house, struggling to see over the mountain of boxes. It was a day days after Christmas but Sansa would never have known it from the lines at the mall. It took them nearly half an hour just to park and twice as long to pull all of the boxes from the car and shove them into Sansa’s purse, carrying the overflow of gifts in their arms. After a brief exchange in which Sansa was almost hit by a reckless driver and the argument Jon had with him almost came to blows, they were off.

The plaza was so crowded that if Sansa had held out her arms she would have bumped into at least three other people everywhere she turned. She held tight to Jon’s hand, afraid to lose him in the throng as they searched for the stationary store in an attempt to return some of Elia’s boxes.

It was an hour of fighting crowds and trying to avoid any more angry patrons before they stopped for lunch. The plan of the shopping center was optimized for the summer months and the majority of the building did not have a roof, allowing the light dust of snow that fell over their heads to chill them to the bone.

Jon, catching sight of his wife’s shivering form, decided to stop for a pair of hot chocolates. He had remembered it was among her favourite treats since she was a girl and he had saved up his weekly allowance for three weeks to buy her an expensive do it yourself kit for Christmas.

While Sansa searched for an empty table she felt her cell vibrate in her pocket. Reaching for it she saw the illuminated screen read a message from Jon’s uncle, _where are you?_ asked Oberyn Martell, the words filtering across the smudged glass screen.

_The shoppe on first_ , she typed back, pressing the buttons extra firmly through her cotton gloves. _Returning some gifts for Elia_. It was mere seconds after she sent the text that it showed her message had been read.

A trio of identical gray text bubbles appeared at the bottom of the screen to show he was typing back. _Will be there in fifteen._ Sansa wrinkled her brow in confusion. She wondered why he was coming. Did he have gifts of his own to return? Did Elia’s shopping addiction spread to him as well? A sickening feeling in the back of her throat made her worry that something was wrong.

Jon returned with his hands full of two mugs of hot chocolate, the froth of milk tinged slightly pink from the peppermint extract and food colouring that had been mixed into it. Distracted by the drinks they sat side by side at one of the wrought iron benches beneath the skylight of the center and ate in silence, curled close to each other to avoid the sharpness of the cold snaps of wind that lashed at them.

“Oberyn texted.” Said Sansa. She chuckled at the sight of Jon’s upper lip covered in milk froth and a smudge of chocolate before she wiped it away with her thumb, bringing the finger to her lips and swirling the chocolate away with her tongue.

Jon watched the motion in rapture, part of him wishing to recreate the movement by covering himself from head to toe in chocolate. “What for?” asked he, feeling the weight of her head as it lilted against his shoulder.

“Didn’t say.” She shrugged. “Just said he would be here in fifteen minutes.”

“That’s odd.” replied Jon. “He’s always saying the holiday season is his busiest time of year. I wonder why he would take time off to go shopping.”

Sansa and Jon finished their drinks and returned the mugs to the shelf atop the rubbish bin before returning to the scavenger hunt that was returning Elia’s gifts, the task made all the more difficult by a Christmas themed parade that was going down the center of the mall’s stucco floor.

They walked slowly, pointing and commenting on the different window trimmings of stores that they passed before, shivering in each other’s arms as the minutes ticked away and the snow began to fall more heavily.

Her arms began to ache with the weight of the bags she carried; the list Elia had given them bearing half a hundred objects she needed to return or exchange. Jumpers, woolen socks, books, stationary, pens and inkwells, and even more things Sansa did not know. But she enjoyed the time with Jon, away from the hubbub of the Stark household or the stark emptiness of the Targaryen manor now that both of Jon’s parents and Viserys were away on business.

The shopping plaza was buzzing with the excitement of the winter holiday and thought it was days since Christmas the grouping of miniature candy coloured houses had yet to be cleared away from the clearing between the shoppes, bearing the names of Mr. and Mrs. Clause. The large throne like chair that stood at its center was empty but as Sansa peered closer she could see a sign that read ‘Back in five’ hanging before it. Jon smiled, remembering when he had been a child and his mother had taken him to that very throne, perching him upon Santa’s lap so Jon could whisper in the silver haired man’s ear and tell him what he wanted for the holiday while Elia Targaryen took a photo.

“What’s left?” asked Jon, taking a bite of the buttered almond croissant he had bought.

Sansa dug the list from her pocket and read the words that had yet to be crossed off. “The bookstore.” She read before stealing a bite of Jon’s snack, dusting away the sugar that fell down his front. “She has a few things to return.”

He nodded and they made their way out of the plaza to cross the street toward where the massive two-story bookstore lay, its windows decorated with fake imitations of snow and glittering red and white ornaments. Sansa’s heart fluttered in her chest. She always loved bookstores, the smell of coffee and fresh ink, the way new books felt across her fingers as she turned their pages. She was excited to reach the front doors. But she never did.

The icy air was filled with shouting. Jon’s arms went slack and the few gifts that remained scattered through the air, the sound of breaking glass filling her ears as one of the more delicate parcels shattered at her feet. Jon’s body shifted to stand before her, physically blocking her from the flashes of white light that she had become all too familiar with.

Sansa’s arms closed around his middle, pressing her face into the back of his shoulder as he tried to force his way through the crowd. She cursed herself. She had been too enthralled by the snow and the hot chocolate and the prospect of new books that she had not checked before stepping out onto the street, as Oberyn had told her she ought to.

“Any comments?” called a voice from the crowding photographers. She could not see their faces, walking blindly after Jon, so close at his back that when he stopped suddenly the bone of his shoulder blade jammed against her lip. She could taste blood in her mouth, her tongue running out to lick the cut that lay at the center of her top lip, the dull stinging pain make her frown.

“Sansa!” came another. “Sansa what do you have to say about your father’s recent statement to the King-“

“-Are you sorry?”

“Enough!” Jon shouted. His voice was lost in the screaming and the repeated sounds of shutters as several thousand photos of the cowering couple were taken.

A throng of people had enveloped them, forming a circle that closed around their bodies. The handles of the bags in Sansa’s hands grew tangled and fell away. She reached automatically for them but Jon stumbled and fell backwards into her, the cast on her arm banging against her knee hard enough that she could feel a bruise blooming instantaneously.

Sansa wondered what the headlines would be. What the photos would look like. Her, cowering in fear, her head bobbing up from behind Jon’s broad shoulders. Him, screaming, looking half mad as he tried to fight through the sea of bodies. But nobody would ever see the cameramen. They would never hear the cruel things they shouted at the newly wed couple. They would never hear the screams or see the flashes of light or know the way the photographers had pushed at them like farmers corralling sheep into a pen.

A series of new lights flooded through, flashing white and blue. Police cars, Sansa realized, her heart shooting into her throat. She was breathing heavily, her broken arm aching from her last exchange with the camera men. The shrill sirens only blended with the screaming and her ears pounded with the sound, the cars so close that she could feel the vibration of the sirens in her chest. Around them the photographers began to scatter like insects exposed suddenly to light, trampling the bags Sansa had dropped.

“Sansa-“ Jon called.

His hand had closed around her upper arm, his grip iron tight as he walked forward. From behind him she could see Obara Martell shouting orders into the crowd, forcing away the prying eyes that had gathered and the photographers that were still snapping photos. Oberyn moved into sight, opening the door to his police car and ushering them inside.

The crowd swarmed before the car, slamming their palms upon the glass, screaming words that were muffled through the thick glass of the windows, trying in vain to snap photos of the couple sitting in the back seat.

“Oberyn what’s going on?” Jon demanded. He had known at once that something was wrong. The photographers were asking specific questions, directed mainly at the altercation between Ned and Robert.

Oberyn’s copper skin looked sallow and pale, his eyes marked by deep circles that showed he had not slept in hours, maybe even days. As he turned towards them Sansa could not help but notice their usual mirth was gone. “You haven’t heard.” he said. It was not a question.

Nausea sunk in Sansa’s belly at his words. Shaking her head she waited for the blow to come, feeling Jon’s body grow tense as a metal rod beside hers. “What is it?” she breathed. She feared the worst. Her mother was dead. Her father was dead. Robb dead. Arya dead. Bran in another accident. Rickon, little Rickon…but when Oberyn spoke again she found nothing so fatal had befallen her family, although the news was hardly any better.

“King Robert has been in an accident.” Oberyn said, looking grave. “The Queen accuses your father of murder. He has been taken into custody upon her order.”


	34. Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Four

“Sansa.” Jon said. His voice was disembodies, hovering over her as though without a source, mingling with that of his uncle’s. The room was pitch black, their voices swimming before her. She reached out a hand, feeling the air as cold as though she was standing in the middle of a winter storm without a jacket on. “Sansa.”

She could feel Jon’s callused hands on her shoulders, the familiar feel of the scar on his right palm causing her not to flinch when she felt him shake her. “Sansa, please. Just tell me-“ he said. But she could not. She did not know what he had asked. “Tell me please. Are you alright?”

“Yes.” She muttered. Her eyes fluttered and she realized with a start that the car was not dark but that she had had her eyes pressed shut. “What…”

“You fainted.” Jon said. His face was pale and creased with lines of worry, tension showing in the firm set of his jaw. He reached for her hand, squeezing tightly as though in an attempt to bring her back to consciousness. “Please- tell me. Are you alright?”

“Yes.” She repeated. Her head was too heavy to carry and she rested it against the tinted window for a moment. Black fringes were disappearing from before her eyes though the light that danced off the hood of the car remained uncomfortably bright in her eyes. “I…fainted.” She said, uncertainly. Jon nodded. She did not remember the event. She had been listening carefully to Oberyn’s words, pain and anxiety roiling in her stomach. She had felt ill, a pull of nausea at her throat and she had thought she would be sick. And then Jon was speaking to her. Asking if she was all right. Telling her she had fainted.

“Tell me.” she said, unclipping her seatbelt so she could lean forward and speak to Oberyn. “Please Oberyn. Tell me everything you know. I have to…I have to know what will happen.”

Oberyn let out a long, low sigh. The unlit cigarette curled between his fingers did a twirl before he dropped it in his cup of soda. “Haven’t smoked in five years.” He muttered. An open box of Marlboro reds sat in the second cup holder, Oberyn licking his lips as though to distract himself. His eyes flicked up to look at her in the rear view mirror. “I don’t know much.” He said. “I promise. Your mother just called to tell me and to ask if I could get you.” Sansa nodded, waiting for him to continue. “Cersei Lannister called the precinct after King Robert’s accident. Said that Ned had threatened the King. Said that they had had a fight. Said she was afraid for her life and her safety.”

Sansa could feel anger boiling inside of her. She wanted to scream at the top of her lungs. She wanted to profess how Joffrey had struck her, wanted to scream for Oberyn to arrest the Prince and toss him in prison and never release him. “He would never!” she shouted, slamming her palms against the leather seat. “He would never hurt anyone!”

“I know, dear.” Said Oberyn. “ _I_ _know_. But she is the Queen. We have to protect her.”

“Why?” Sansa spat. “Snakes can protect themselves.”

She reached for her phone but realized it was gone. Seeing her struggling beside him Jon spoke, “Oberyn took it.” he said. “Mine too.”

“Why?” she asked, knitting her brows.

“They can track them.” Oberyn said. “Photographers, journalists, Cersei’s goons. Whoever wants to find you can do so if you keep this on you. But if you _lose_ it…that’s a different story.”

Sansa’s heart was beating firmly, threatening to break free from her ribcage. She could only think about her family. Her mother’s tear stained face as she watched her husband be dragged away, Robb, doing everything he could to care for the family, Bran, trying so hard to be strong for his mother while it was all he could do not to cry, Arya, shouting and angry before breaking down in a fit of tears, Rickon, too little to understand what was happening or why his mother was crying. Her eyes burned with tears that did not relieve her no matter how hard she tried to push them away. Jon reached out to take her hand but she pulled it away, turning back to Oberyn.

“So what’s going to happen?” she demanded. “What are they going to do to him? Are they going to…” _hurt him_. She could not say the words.

“No.” said Oberyn. “They won’t hurt him. Your father is well loved among the people. But there will be a trial, most likely the Queen will try to corrupt the jury or the judge. But she has to have evidence to do this.”

“What happened to the King?” asked Jon. “To injure him so greatly.”

“Car accident.” Replied Oberyn. “He was driving that vintage monstrosity that he’s been resorting for the last four years and the brakes failed. Looks quite damning.”

Sansa shook her head. “My father wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t do that. He…he wouldn’t.”

“I know, love.” said Oberyn. “But the brakes _were_ cut. I did the secondary examination myself and there was clear evidence of tampering. Even though Ned didn’t do it, someone did.”

Sansa dropped her head into her hands. Her stomach was roiling, turning and turning and turning, the little bit of hot chocolate she had drunk making her sick. She felt Jon’s hand upon her back and leaned into his touch, muttering a quick apology for pulling her hand away from him.

No sooner had she rested her head upon his chest than she began to cry. Big, fat, wet tears that sunk into his shirt and stained the fabric with long wet marks. She wanted to be strong. She wanted to be strong like her mother or like Robb. But in this moment, safe behind tinted windows and with the arms of her lover and best friend around her she could not stave off the tears.

She looked out the window, confused by her surroundings. Looking out through her bleary eyes she realized they were on an unfamiliar road, heading away from the town instead of towards its center where the Stark household lay. “Where are we going?” she asked, sniffling.

“Your mum asked me to get you out of the city.” Said Oberyn. “Away from the mess that is this nonsense. I’ve got a cabin in the woods that nobody but Elia, Doran, Ellaria, and Obara know about. You’ll be safe there. You and Jon can stay for as long as you want. It should be stocked fully with wood and wood for the fire. If you need anything there is a landline that’s untraceable, with it you can call your mum and anyone else you may need to speak with. Although I suggest only calling those you absolutely must communicate with, and do not speak to anyone you do not trust. I need to keep you safe until we know what’s going to happen.”

“What about Robb?” Jon asked. “He is under the same pressure as Sansa to marry the King’s daughter.”

“Aye.” Said Oberyn. “I’ll be picking him up later. As well as Arya and Daenerys.” Sansa opened her mouth to ask about Bran but he continued. “Your mother thinks Bran and Rickon too young to be without her so they’ll be staying in the city for the time being. When the time comes… _if_ the time comes, I’ll be getting them too.”

All of a sudden Jon heard the screeching of tires and whipped around, finding a car the colour of turkey curry rushing towards them. He pulled Sansa closer, his entire body going cold and rigid at the sight of them. “Who-“ he said, barely having a moment to speak before he saw the window of the car rolling down and a large black camera sticking out.

“Bloody hell.” Oberyn seethed, teeth gritted. “We can’t catch a break. Buckle up, love. It’s going to be a little harrowing from here on out.”

Sansa did as she was told, fastening the seatbelt around her body just as she felt the car jerk out beneath her. Oberyn pulled open the clear latch between the driver and passenger seat’s and turned one of the three knobs inside of it, causing the police radio to hum to life. With another turn of a knob Sansa could see the flashing of blue and white police lights and knew that the third knob could only be-

The air was filled with the loud blaring of a police siren, seeming even louder inside the small car than it did outside. The engine beneath them purred like a cat, increasing as they moved faster through traffic, weaving in-between cars like they were in the midst of one of Bran’s video games. Oberyn pushed his foot down on the gas pedal, the loud siren and the flashing lights signaling other cars to move out of their path. Ahead of them cars jumped away from the police car, the angry shouting and rude hand gestures that followed them showing their displeasure.

The landscape flew passed them as they rushed through traffic but as Sansa turned in her seat she could see the car of the photographers had only fallen behind but not abandoned them. She frowned, her hand clutched tightly to Jon’s as the car jerked, seeming almost like it was about to crash into the post office building before Oberyn jerked the wheel and they went careening the wrong way down a one way street.

“Desperate times.” He muttered, watching the other cars through the dark sunglasses he pushed up his nose. His frown deepened as he saw the yellow car follow them, rushing after the car as though a single photograph was worth more than their lives.

“God dammit!” Oberyn cursed. “I can’t take you to the cabin until I lose these tossers. Otherwise what would be the point of keeping it off the books for ten years.”

He picked up the handheld walkie talkie and spoke into it, hearing the muffled sound of someone on the other end. “East bound on seventeenth ave, we’ve got a yellow Ford four-door carrying a driver and passenger. Photographers. Call for backup at once, I’m carrying precious cargo. I repeat, call for back up I am carrying precious cargo.”

“Roger, unit one.” Called a woman’s voice. “Sending backup.”

If the journey had not been so harrowing Sansa would have found it enjoyable. She had always been a fan of action movies, having loved the escapism and halt from reality that most films adopted. She loved the suspense and the handsome action heroes and the realistic fight scenes. But now all she was worried about was her father. He was not meant for jail. There was no man more honourable than he, the Hand of the King, the keeper of peace between the realms. He had single-handily stopped a war from starting between the Greyjoy’s of the Iron Islands and King’s Landing. All those lives he had saved, now to have his ruined by a golden haired witch.

Sansa could have spat with anger. She hated Cersei Lannister. Almost more than she hated Joffrey she hated the woman. She was always beautiful, always able to make everyone see what she wanted them to, all golden hair and precious smiles, instead of the biting teeth and cold glares she housed within. She hated her.

Oberyn jerked the wheel suddenly and Sansa slammed flat against the door, her broken arm aching from having hit the extended door locking mechanism. But before Jon could ask if she was okay they were turning again and now it was his turn to slam against the side of the car, his head nearly going through the glass of the window. “Sorry.” Said Oberyn. Trying to lose the other car was proving more difficult than he had imagined.

Soon enough Sansa could hear the dull blare of another police car heading their way and soon enough it came into sight, blocking the photographer’s car between their vehicle and a fire hydrant. But the yellow car only swerved around the hydrant and flew passed them, running head first through a newsstand and scattering newspapers and magazines down the windy street.

“Fuck.” Oberyn spat. “Who is this guy? Jason Statham. This is absurd.”

He turned again and made down a side street so small that the car nearly did not fit, squeezing against the brick walls of the twin buildings close enough to chip the paint on the car. Oberyn cursed again, gritting his teeth. “Come in, control.” He said into the handheld. “Come in, control. We’re still being tailed, we need more units.”

“Roger that, unit one. More units already en route. Please describe your location.”

Looking briefly at the GSP device that clung to the windshield Oberyn rattled off a list of numbers Sansa recognized as coordinates and continued driving, groaning under his breath when he saw there was not one, not two, but three cars now following them.

“How much could a bloody picture be worth?” he bemoaned.

“That photo of Cersei Lannister’s water breaking at the concert hall sold for fifteen thousand pounds.” Sansa shouted over the siren. She had read about it in a magazine the previous week. “Though I cant imagine a picture of us in a car would sell for that much.”

“A photo of a murder’s daughter fleeing the city with her illicit lover, the son of the Master of Coin.” Oberyn called back. “You’d be surprised. I think that might blow Cersei’s photo out of the water.”

Sansa got a sick sort of pleasure out of hearing that. But the feeling was soon replaced by fear and pain as the car jerked quickly to avoid striking another and Sansa’s seatbelt dug into her belly.

She was so filled to the brim with conflicting emotions that she felt she might burst with the anger and fear and sadness that tore at her insides like a ravaging illness. She hated the King, she hated the way he spoke to her and looked at her and always managed to put his hands on her. She hated the Queen, her false smiles and sweet words enough to make her sick. She hated the Prince, the way he had adopted his father’s wandering hands and his mother’s harsh words, even the way his father lecherously leered at other women. She hated the photographers, their gaudy car swerving through the streets after Oberyn’s police vehicle. She hated the marriage law, although it had brought her to Jon. She hated that she had ruined his life, that she had put him in his predicament, that she forced him to flee the city, his family, his life.

A loud, grating crash filled the air and Jon whipped around to find one of the cars crashed into a street lamp and was so completely damaged that it seemed they had become one with the metal pole and Jon was relived to find the car was unable to follow them. Unfortunately, two cars remained. Two cars that were eerily knowledgeable in the ways of car chases and knew just how to weave in and out of traffic without losing the trail Oberyn was trying to hide.

Sansa knew they could not leave the city if they were being followed. They could not risk leading the press right to the cabin that Oberyn hoped to hide them in for the following weeks until the controversy surrounding the Stark’s died down.

“Unit one?” called a voice over the radio, loud enough to make Sansa jump and clamp down on Jon’s hand hard enough to make him groan. “Come in Unit one.”

“Copy.” Said Oberyn Martell, gripping the handheld radio so tightly Sansa feared it might be crushed between his copper fingers. The man snuck another look at her in the rear mirror, his face as grim and firm set as hers.

“Dispatch is setting up a road block between Grande and Salt Road.” Said the voice. “Lead the cars to us and they will not be able to get passed. Just swing round on the sidewalk and leave the rest to us.”

There was the fuzzy sound of static before Oberyn pressed down on one of the buttons. “Have the roads been cleared?” asked he. Sansa could have smiled. He was a good man, even now caring for the safety of the citizens he had sworn to protect.

“Aye.” Said the voice. “Roads have been cleared, Chief.”

“Copy.” Repeated Oberyn. He pushed his dark sunglasses once more up his nose and turned to them. “Hold on, chaps. Might get a bit bumpy.”

It had been many months since Sansa had returned home for University for the Spring holiday and longer still since she had been anywhere near Salt Road. The neighborhood housed little more than factories and old junkyards that were piled high with hunks of scrap metal and broken slabs of coral and stone. When Robb had first started driving he had taken a wrong turn and ended up stopped at a light between a junkyard that was teeming with metal scrappers who had leered at Sansa and Arya as they sat in the back seat. After that a homeless man with seven missing teeth had hit Robb’s tail light with an old pipe and made Arya scream loud enough to lose her voice. When they had gotten home Robb had professed everything and Catelyn had banned them from ever returning to the road.

It was not so filthy and frightening in the daylight, occupied only by factory workers and the men and women completing the construction on the new factory down the road. They stared as Oberyn sped passed, lights flashing and sirens blaring loud as cracks of lightning, and shouted things as the car swerved around a rubbish truck and onto the sidewalk.

Sansa wished she could close her eyes to avoid the landscape that sped beside the far windows but she could not, for each time she pressed her eyes closed she only felt more out of control. The feel of weightlessness was uncomfortable each time Oberyn jerked the wheel and at such high speeds Sansa could feel every bump and crack and chip in the road below.

She could feel panic welling in her throat, her legs bouncing nervously. She could remember the night the King had gifted Joffrey a new Aston Martin for his sixteenth birthday and the boy had taken it for a spin, ordering Sansa join him. At first it had been fun. It had been almost freeing to drive so fast. There had been no fear of arrest or trouble, as no one would dare detain the Prince of Westeros. But then…It was as though a switch had been flipped for she had felt only fear, her eyes going wide as she watched the red line upon the speedometer rise steadily until it disappeared out of sight. She had begged him to slow. Begged him to stop just for a moment and let her out of the car. Said that she could just call a black taxi. But Joffrey had not relented, laughing as he pressed further down on the gas pedal and turned the knob of the radio louder so he could drown out her fearful pleas.

“We’re almost there.” said Oberyn.

Jon’s arms tightened around hers, drawing her body to his so that her shoulders were braced against his chest, the seatbelt digging into their bellies as it pulled taut. Just ahead they could see the road was as empty as the woman on the radio had promised, a series of police cars pulled parallel on the road so that there was no way to safely pass them.

In the sunlight Jon could make out a glint of metal glowing in the brightness and knew that the officers had arranged a strip of short spikes that were made to break through the thick rubber tires of the photographer’s car and keep them from driving further. Noticing this too Oberyn cut the wheel jarringly, the right tires of the car hiking up on the sidewalk to avoid the blockade of cars.

Sansa groaned, having never realized how bumpy the sidewalk could be until that moment, the police car trembling so violently that Jon thought he could feel his brain rattling around in his head. Behind her Sansa could see that as soon as Oberyn had driven passed the blockade one of the previously stationary police cars pulled over the sidewalk, thereby forming a complete roadblock.

Oberyn looked back through the mirror, hearing a loud screech as one of the cars was unable to brake quickly enough and crashed through the spike strip, the front two tires popping loudly. The Chief of police did not slow to see if the other car had been stopped and only continued to drive, turning down one of the side streets and disappearing from view.

They drove for a few minutes in silence before Oberyn spoke, letting out a long sight. “I’m having a bloody cigarette.” He growled, flicking open his lighter.


	35. Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Five

Oberyn shifted on the balls of his feet, looking supremely uncomfortable. “Well this is…really it, actually.” He said. “Erm…Ellaria stocked the fridge and the pantry last week, I think. So there should be enough to last for a while. Until I can come back, I mean. Or when your mum can bring something.

“The hot water heater can only fill the tub once every two hours so make sure you don’t waste any excess water. There should be enough wood for the fire but if not there are some logs outside that can be split.” Jon nodded, marking quick notes on the pad of paper beside the telephone. “The house phone works to make and receive calls. Just don’t phone anyone who might leak any details to the press. Use your better judgment, you’re both adults, I don’t need to treat you like my daughters.”

The lull in the conversation pulled both of their gazes toward Sansa, who stood beside the curtained window, looking absently at the rocky terrain. She sniffed softly, the tears she had barely kept at bay threatening to spill forth.

“I know you couldn’t bring any clothes with you.” Said Oberyn, his dark eyes dark instead of light with the mirth that usually filled them. Weariness was written on his face, anxiety shining through from the nervous tapping of his foot to the way his fingers reached for the pack of cigarettes he had hidden in his back pocket. “But there are some things in my closet and I think Nymeria’s things should fit Sansa just find. Her room is the last one down the hall.

Oberyn turned to Sansa, laying a hand on her shoulder and squeezing softly. “Ned is an honourable man, everyone from here to Sothoryos knows that. The Queen’s lies may seem at first convincing, but they don’t reach everyone…If you have need of anything. Anything at all. Even if you just got a craving for a cookie, phone me and I’ll bring you an entire bakery.” Oberyn hit her chin teasingly, fixing her with the same playful grin that used to make her flush red with the voracity of the crush she had once kept. But this time she could only offer a small smile and a sniffle, her wet eyelashes batting as she tried to blink away a tear.

At the door Jon listened to the hum of Oberyn’s engine and the crunch of gravel beneath tire as he backed out of the car park and once more onto the unpaved road, taking with him a cloud of dirt that bubbled up from beneath the snow.

Jon let out a breath, turning to look around the room. For Oberyn to call it a cabin was as misleading as calling it a wooden box thrown beneath a bridge. It was large enough to be its own hamlet, spread wide across its plot of snow-covered grass, a beautiful mix of old and new. The house stood high atop a rocky cliff, close beside a small cataract waterfall that rolled down crags of bone coloured stone.

The living room was illuminated with a warm glow from the burnishing fireplace, the wooden floors cold against Sansa’s bare feet as she stood beside a series of tall frosted windows, looking out at the riverbed. It reminded Sansa of the hot springs that her father had so often taken them to as children. If the water had been warmer she might have been tempted to dive into it.

“Are you alright?” Jon asked. His arms were warm as they lay around her middle, coiling until she was pressed close and firm against him. He rested his chin on top of her head, Sansa able to feel the vibrations of his voice as he spoke.

“I’m scared.” She said, Jon polite enough to ignore the way her voice cracked as she spoke. “I don’t want anything to happen to him. He’s…he doesn’t deserve it all.”

“He doesn’t.” Jon agreed. “Your father is a good man. And Oberyn is right. The Queen’s supporters may speak louder than any others but it does not mean there are no other voices out there.”

Sansa smiled. In another circumstance the thought of being alone with Jon would make excitement flutter at the base of her throat. She would turn in his arms and wrap her arms around his neck and in a breath the King’s consummation rule would be completed for the month.

“D’you ever think about secondary school?” she said.

Jon made a face. “I make it a point not to think about the worst years of my life.”

Sansa batted him away. “Worst years?” she repeated sarcastically.

He looked surprised again. “You’re mad.”

Sansa _tsk_ ed her tongue. She could remember him now, clad in the worn black leather jacket that had fit him more perfectly than any jacket ought to, clinging to every muscle and plain of his body. His dark curls had been pressed to his brow by the beanies winter had urged he wear when Jon had ducked behind the unoccupied classrooms on the east lawn during lunch for his daily cigarette break. It had been the only time Sansa had wished she was a cigarette, watching Jon’s lips part to let out a long breath of ash coloured smoke, his booted foot stamping out the fag just as the bell rang to call them back.

“Every girl wanted to shag you.”

His dark eyed seemed suddenly deeper, his breath warm against her cheeks as he brushed his lips against hers. “ _Every_ girl?”

Jon’s hands slipped from around her waist and dipped lower; brushing across the arse he had been aching to get his hands on for days. He was quite proud of it, finding himself watching as she flitted passed him, opening doors for her so she could walk ahead of him, the slow drag of her hips purposeful torment, her blue eyes on him over her shoulder.

Sansa cocked her head to the side, crimson hair tickling his face as he nosed at it. “Aye, _every_ girl.”

“I wanted to shag you too, saucy thing.” He served back. She could feel each one of his fingers against her, grasping and squeezing and teasing. With his other hand he pulled her closer, her body sandwiched between the stone wall and the meadow of his body, arching against him until they curved together like fresh born kittens.

“I am a married woman, ser.” She returned, feigning shock, close enough that he could feel the dull throb of her heart against his ribcage. “We mustn’t let my husband catch us.”

“Your husband is a fool.” He growled. “To not be kissing you right now.”

Her lips still tasted like the peppermint she had drunk when they had strolled through the mall, so many lifetimes ago. They were sweet and soft and moved against his as voraciously as though she had not been kissed in years, her fingers rising to curl through his hair before balling into a fist and pulling his head closer to hers. It was a kiss that went through him like a blast of cold water, rising from his toes all the way to his head, heavy in the pit of his stomach and the base of his chest. It seemed to swallow him whole, engulfing him in so much warm he thought for a moment the knob of the heater had broken and flooded the chamber with temperatures high enough to make him sweat.

It took him a moment to realize her cheeks were wet and as Jon pulled away, chest heaving, his parted and aching for her touch, he realized with a start that she was crying.

“Don’t.” she said when he raised a hand to brush away a tear. “It…it’s not because I’m sad. I…If you weren’t here I would be all alone here.” She said, her eyes sparkling silver in the light the setting sun reflecting upon the outside waterfall. “Or…or with _him_.”

If Jon could have one wish from the Gods it would be to take any pain that Sansa had ever felt or would ever feel. He would envelop the Starks in a bubble of protection so that nothing could ever harm them. He would make them suffer for what they did to her.

“I love you.” She sobbed, her face buried in his shirtfront.

“I love you.” He returned, dropping his head to rest it against hers. He could feel the tremor of her hands as she gripped the lapels of his yet to be removed coat, holding him tight enough to make her knuckles burn white.

He allowed his eyes to shut, remembering. When he closed his eyes he could still see Sansa, all those years ago. Her hair had been shorter then but wrapped in the same crimson plait she still wore, hanging over the back of her freshly pressed school uniform. Even then she had driven him mad with the temptation he knew was forbidden, all short skirts and shining trainers. All those years that she had ridden in the backseat of Robb’s car beside him, had taken her lunch to the table just before his, so each time he lifted his head he could see her, trying painfully to read the book that Joffrey continuously distracted her from.

Even then Jon had hated him. Even before he had known the truth. The boy was as beautiful and as vain as his mother, his short hair the same colour and style as his uncle’s. The cruel streak that seemed to have touched every Lannister except Tyrion had been bestowed particularly heavy within him and with Joff’s royal status and position as head of the football team there were few people free of his narcissism and entitlement.

Sometimes Jon wondered if she still bore the marks his fists had left upon her. He wondered if her body remembered his touch and if so, he wondered if any amount of gentle caresses and feather light kisses could wash away the hurt.

Jon looked at her; so suddenly serious that for a moment Sansa was taken aback. Every muscle in her body strained as she prepared herself for the bad news that she was sure would come. His hands had closed tightly around her shoulders, holding her firm enough for his callused fingers to dig into the sleeves of her jacket.

His eyes were dark as the night sky before dawn, the set of his brows leaving a crease between them. “He will not _ever_ touch you again.” said Jon. “Prince or no Prince I won’t ever let it happen.”

Sansa could only nod, the tears that had welled in her eyes having gone dry from the shock of his changed exterior. Her lips parted as though she were about to speak but the words would not come and instead her fingers reached for his and twined through them like grasping vines, the pads of her fingers tracing the line of his palm as though a psychic trying to read it.

“Take me to bed.” She whispered and her eyes were on fire.

The guest bedroom of the cabin was well furnished with a large square bed dappled with crimson sheets, a matching mahogany desk and wardrobe, and a long series of frosted glass windows that lined the far wall, draped with curtains the same colour as the bed sheets. Jon might have appreciated it in another moment, but now he was only concerned with the slope of Sansa’s thigh as her legs were around him, the smoothness of her skin as he nosed at her neck, the redness of her mouth as she parted her lips against his jaw.

The pad of her tongue was wet and warm against the column of his neck and in another circumstance it might have tickled but now it only lit a fire in his belly and in parts of him he was sure her prone body could feel. There was a breathless exchange of kisses and grasping hands until he felt his shirt pulled over his head by hands he was not sure were hers or his, and his belt soon followed, echoing through the hollow chamber as it clinked against the wooden paneled floors.

If there had been an Olympic medal given for fastest removal of clothing Jon was sure they would have won it. Almost as quickly as his lungs drew breath she was bare to the waist and more naked still, the large clock in the corridor ticking away the seconds that dragged on like hours. Her knickers were made of lace and the colour of cream and she blushed scarlet when he saw they were patterned with cartoonish blue hearts, as though there was anything in this world could make him disinterested in her.

By the time her hips rose to meet his Jon could already feel a lightness spread through his body that started at the pit of his chest and rose to his head like a lingering touch, spreading through him deeper and deeper with every kiss and every caress and every lingering glance.

Her arms draped over his shoulders, pulling him close enough to feel the steady thrum of her heartbeat against his chest and he knew the same adrenaline that met her heart had come to his. His fingers dipped down to lay against her belly and feel it tremble slightly beneath his touch, the mottle of nervousness and excitement within her making him smile.

She was moaning and it was music, the steady rise and fall of her body beneath his making his eyes cross. In the back of his mind he knew they were free to be as loud and wild as they wanted but even still, the bitten back moans she emitted seemed saved just for him, and it sent a strange thrill through him.

He could almost laugh at the memory that the King’s consummation rule had once sent a strike of fear and nervousness through him. With her body beneath his, long and lithe and willowy, dappled with the streaks of a fading sun, her head thrown back in pleasure, the crimson hair that fell through his fingers as dark a red as the horizon. If anything, the consummation rule would be the easiest to overcome of all the recent developments.

Jon opened his mouth to speak, to tell her he was nearing his peak, but without word he knew she was close at hand, her body nearly vibrating from the pleasure that built within her core. The warmth their breath and their bodies had created had fogged up the bottom panes of the glass window, the cold air that hung outside not even a thought as they moved together, twin balls of fire and warmth.

She clung to him as he met his orgasm headlong, with hers not far behind him, the last low, long moan she emitted making her toes curl against his back. His fingers had dipped between her parted legs and the way his callused fingers had touched just there made her moan in a way he had never heard and quickly resolved to hear again. By the time she lay on her back in the bed she was blinking back fatigue from the sleep that had not come to her the night before, when she had been too happy and excited about the winter holidays, when she had no notion of the events that would come the next day.

Sansa lay on her back and he pulled the discarded blanket back over their bodies as he heard the radiator click off and the frost begin to creep towards them. She was warm against his body as she wiggled closer, her toes tickling his shin, her fingers coiled against his chest. She was already sinking deeper into sleep. He dare not disturb her even to whisper how much he loved her, the words sitting on his tongue like a weight.

Jon could remember now, those games they had always played as children. Then and now Sansa had been the Princess in the Tower, hidden away from the world. He looked down at her, smiling, as he remembered the stick Robb had proclaimed a sword and the bush he had called a dragon. But now the soft, sleeping creature that curled against him, seeking the warmth and comfort only his body could possess, Sansa was his in more than just fantasy.


	36. Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Six

They wandered absently through the cabin in search of entertainment. Sansa followed Oberyn’s instructions to keep the curtains drawn but did not latch the windows as he had asked. The rush of gelid air that ghosted over her face refreshed her and whether it was the pleasure she took from the cold or the rush of icy air that blew over her she found her eyes had dried.

Sansa could hear Jon’s footsteps fading as he continued to explore, the pair walking off in the opposite direction. There were more rooms than they could count nestled in the wood and warmth of the cabin, the multitude of stowing closets and bath storage so fully stocked that it took them hours to pick through them. The cabin even bore a kitchen so large that Sansa was sure her mother would be jealous- though Jon was sure he had never seen Ellaria pick up a dish in her life.

Oberyn’s room was as manly a room as Sansa had ever seen, decorated with wooden paneling and a (feux) bear skinned rug lying across the floor, his four poster bed large enough to house them all. Next came his daughter’s rooms, each a proper reflection of the girl’s personality, from Obara’s fencing blades and rugby posters to Nymeria’s many bookshelves and the dollhouse in Elia’s room that stood almost as large at the room itself.

The guest bedroom was sparse but comfortable, the bed so soft that when Jon jogged across the room and dove into it his body sunk halfway into the feather stuffed mattress like an anchor through seawater. Sansa laughed at her husband, dragging her fingers down the spines of the dusty books that lined the small shelf that was pressed into the wall beside the wooden desk and mentally noting the names of volumes she would spend the next few days entertaining herself with.

Sansa jumped, hearing the cabinet doors slam so quickly that she almost lost a finger. Jon uttered a quick apology, finding he had sat upon one of the remotes that controlled the machine operated cabinet doors and caused the telly to pop out from where it had been hidden in its wooden nook.

“Sorry.” He muttered quickly. “He has a lot of good DVDs though.” He commented as Sansa continued down the shelf. “Though perhaps we should skip _Law and Order_ for the time being. A bit too close to home.”

“By that logic we should also skip _Snow White_. We already have one evil queen in our midst.” Said Sansa, trying her hardest not to cry. She was so filled with hatred for the woman, her cheek still burning from the sting of the slap Cersei had delivered, that she could almost scream.

As though sensing the slew of incoming tears Jon rounded the corner with an armful of board games, stacked so high that he could not see and nearly ran straight into the doorjamb. “Look what I found,” he announced as he set down the games on the sofa in the living room. “ _Monopoly_ , _Clue_ , _Life, Guess Who_.” he said, his eyes darkening to become suddenly mischievous. He reached for the small silver briefcase that had been balanced upon the stack of games and offered it. “We could play strip poker.”

Sansa opened the box and looked inside. “We don’t have any chips.” Said she, sifting through the cards and dice that lay inside the box. She let out a noise, realizing the cloth she had been holding was in fact a pair of underpants. “It looks like Oberyn has already had his bout of strip poker.” She said, flinging the pants at Jon, who ducked to avoid them. He tossed the pants back at her and the couple broke out into a bout of laughter as loudly and emphatically as though nothing had ever troubled them.

“Strip _Uno_ then?” Jon offered. “Strip _Go Fish_?”

“Tell me, love. How exactly does one play strip _Uno_?”

Jon offered his hand, feeling her palm slip into it. “I guess I’ll have to show you.”

Half an hour and three games of strip _Uno_ later and Jon was naked as on his name day, wearing nothing but the blanket that a fully clothed Sansa had draped over his shoulders after pitying her poor naked husband. “I thought you were supposed to be showing me.” she teased, laying down another card on the pile in the middle of the table. “Draw four, sucker.”

Jon cursed under his breath, adding an additional four cards to his already full deck. “I swear to the Gods if you give me another draw four I’ll divorce you.” He teased.

“Well that’s just cruel.” She responded, offering a quivering lip as he laid down his next card. “I’ll have to punish you. Skip your turn-“ she said, handing him the card. “And draw four.”

He let out a huff of breath but Sansa knew he was happy to be able to distract her from the thoughts of her father curled in the dark cell of the jail tucked away beneath the Red Keep. It made her sick with just a thought.

They had taken a trip to the prison when she was in grammar school, one of the King’s cruel measures to attempt to stave off criminal activity at a young age. She had been able to smell the dank, musty air that filled the cells. The darkness had seemed never ending, the only light that sifted in being the yellowish, stale light from the foggy windows that lined the upper walls, only about three fingers wide and five fingers long. She had hated it from the moment she had been dragged into it. Joffrey had found it funny. Had laughed at the poor saps who would be locked within. Had poked one of them men with the end of a long stick.

“Sansa?” Jon asked. His face was hovering before hers, his dark eyes having lost their mirth.

“I was just thinking…” she lied, his face shifting into focus. “About whether or not I should play this card.” She showed him another draw four. “Or this one-“ a skip.

“Bloody hell.” He murmured. “How did you-“

Sansa leaned in to brush his lips with hers, pushing away the smell of the must and dust of the prison. “Next time you ought to shuffle the deck.”

She shifted easily into his lap, the cards she had once held abandoned, freeing her palms to brush against his bare skin. His chest was hard and smooth; her fingers skating across each of his nipples in turn and feeling them stiffen beneath her cold touch. His fingers traced the length of a single, shapely leg, following the gentle curve of knee and shin until he reached her ankle, perhaps the most perfect of all ankles, pale and slender and smooth as fresh silk.

He could feel the weight of her body against his, her hips pressing purposefully against his own, simultaneously warm and cold in a way only she could master. Her mouth was hungry and wild on his own, messily kissing every inch of his face she could find, his hands reaching up to wrap the blanket around their bodies like a swaddling cloth.

Sansa sucked at the spot on his neck she knew drove him mad, her tongue hot and wet as it dragged across his neck. Jon let out a low moan, almost a growl, the friction of her hips pushed against his driving him mad with the desire to throw her down on his uncle’s sofa and fuck her until both of them were fatigued and sated and all was forgotten. And from the look in her eye as she crouched towards him Jon could tell she desired the same.

A throat that did not belong to either Jon or Sansa cleared and the pair jumped apart as though pried apart by two invisible hands. Oberyn Martell crossed his arms over his chest as his eyes took in the scene, from the discarded hands of _Uno_ that littered the floor to the nakedness of Jon and his fully clothed wife.

“Well…” he began.

Sansa sat frozen in his lap, afraid that if she were to move aside Oberyn would catch a glimpse of his nephew as he had not seen since the moment Jon had been pulled from his mother. Though now significantly larger.

Instead of looking uncomfortable or embarrassed, as any other person might, Oberyn looked amused. He smirked, “I was hoping to give you a quick update. As soon as she heard Elia volunteered to defend your father. The small council is working their hardest to right this mess and get the story straight but as of right now it’s the Queen’s word against the word of a dying man and his Hand.”

Sansa nodded slowly. “Elia is a wonderful barrister.” Said Oberyn. “If she is defending your father…it’s almost a done deal.”

“I know.” Said Sansa. She had been invited to the celebration Rhaegar had thrown to celebrate Elia’s defeat of Euron Greyjoy after Robert Baratheon had sued the ironborn man for treason. “Any news of my father?”

Oberyn shook his head. “Unfortunately not. He has not been allowed to speak with anyone until Elia arrives, which she has just been permitted to do.”

Sansa had a thousand questions. Was he cold? Was he fed? Did they strip him? Was he being beaten and taunted? Was it as dark as it had been when she visited the prison as a girl? Yet another one seemed larger and more pressing than any of the others. “How…how could anyone believe he would do this to Robert?” she asked. “My father loved him. They are brothers.”

Jon looked as serious as one was able while wearing nothing but a single snowman decorated sock. “They don’t believe it.” said Oberyn. “There is no doubt about Ned’s honour. But with the word of the queen…to speak against her without proof is treason.” He lowered his voice, growling out a string of insults against the woman that made Sansa’s face flush.

“I also brought take away.” said Oberyn. “I thought it might cheer you up…although it looks like Jon had the same thought. So I’ll…leave you to it. Food’s on the island.” He stopped at the door, turning to look over his shoulder. “Remember to use protection kids.”

It was four days before Oberyn returned with news from the Red Keep. Oberyn had thought the seclusion would bring them peace and ease but it only brought anxiety. With every hour that the phone did not ring and every day that the air was not filled with the crunch of snow beneath Oberyn’s tires Sansa only grew more and more fearful. Their phones had been taken by Jon’s uncle and the cable box removed from the telly in both rooms, prohibiting the couple from accessing any news source. It made Sansa furious- but in the back of her mind she was thankful for it, knowing she would have driven herself mad seeking out any bit of information on her father or his case that she could find.

They had not even heard from their families in nearly a week and desire Jon’s attempts to show that he was at ease Sansa could see the worried wrinkles that formed on his brow to show that he ached as much as she. They had heard no word from Dany, nor Robb, nor Arya. And it was driving them raving mad.

They had eaten their way through the take away Oberyn had brought within the first day and a half, leaving them to spend the next few days crafting foods out of vegetables from the small greenhouse laid on the side of the hamlet- thankfully Ellaria had quite a green thumb, and a few frozen meals. Sansa was reminded of her first year of college, after she had been let go from her job and had not told her parents, forcing her to spend the next month and a half eating nothing but packs of cold noodles and cans of stale tasting soup.

On Friday morning they had already spent hours milling around the cabin, Jon picking vegetables and trimming his aunt’s plants and Sansa fashioning a rather good pitcher of hot chocolate out of a Cadbury bar she had found hidden in the back of the pantry. But as soon as Jon had heard the crunch of snow beneath Oberyn’s tires he had rushed to the window to peek through the slits in the curtains. Each day that had come and gone had brought a new rush of fear, the week they had spent in the cabin seeming to possess the magical ability to seem like a month.

They watched in horror as the man parked the car and walked towards them, seeming to walk more slowly than anyone in history ever had. His face was grim and gaunt, the lack of sleep etched on his face mirroring those of Jon and Sansa. As they had laid in bed together the previous night both husband and wife had pretended to have fallen into a deep sleep, while in truth they lay awake, curled in each others arms and taking small comfort in the silence that filled the cool air.

Jon held open the door for Oberyn as Sansa watched him enter, her hands twisting nervously in the pyjama pants she had borrowed from Tyene. She bit her bottom lip, already having left her flesh soft and sore from constant, nervous biting.

“Just say it.” Sansa breathed. She could already see the words on his lips before he uttered them.

Oberyn met her eye and without hesitation spoke the words that made her bite into her bottom lip hard enough to taste blood in her mouth. “The King is dead.”


	37. Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Oberyn frowned at Jon. The beer he held in his hand had long ago warmed and flattened, the slow dissolve of bubbles the only sound that filled the warm air of the cabin. “She hasn’t spoken in nearly an hour.” Said he. He had pulled Jon into the hall, careful to lower his voice so that she would not be able to hear.

Jon frowned, his eyes cutting his eyes to Sansa. She had sunk to the floor, every bone in her body having suddenly seemed to turn to soft set pudding. She did not cry- as he was afraid, nor did she scream or fight or protest. Instead she just sat there- boneless and blank faces and staring off into the corner of the room so intensely that Jon wondered what she could see that he could not.

“She’s just…taking everything in.” Jon said. Snow crested the patio beside them, the door Oberyn had slumped against cold as the whole of the north against his arm after he had shrugged out of his coat. The fire Jon had started seemed to be roasting the inside of the cabin as though they were marshmallows swimming in hot cocoa. “It’s…to know that _he_ is the king now...”

“I can’t imagine it.” agreed Oberyn. He lowered his voice again. “But I can’t imagine that he will be for long…not with the rumours.” Jon gave him a questioning look. “About his father. His _true_ father.”

“You don’t mean Jaime Lannister?” Jon asked. “People still believe those rumours?”

Oberyn gave a long swig of his warmed lager. “From what I’ve heard they’re more than just rumours. If we could only get proof-“

“You won’t get any.” Sansa started. She had appeared beside them, her arms crossed over her chest, a frown marring the fine features of her face. “He won’t ever give it up. When he…” she trailed off, biting the inside of her cheek. She began again, “When I was at the hospital the nurse scraped some skin out from under my nails but the next day it was gone. The Lannisters have got spies everywhere. No matter what we do we won’t be able to stop them.”

“Don’t talk like that.” Said Oberyn, turning to her. His face was gaunt and lifeless, the light that usually glowed in his eyes extinguished. “You don’t know how many people hate them.”

She nodded slowly. “We’ve got to think of something.” In a blink every ounce of fierceness and fire had come rushing back to her. Her eyes were hard and firm, staring back at them as intensely as though she expected a plan to spring forth out of thin air. “We can’t let him be King.”

“His coronation is planned for Sunday.”

“So that’s three days to-“ Sansa stopped, pressing her eyes closed. “To…” she let out a long sigh. “We’ve just got to do something.”

Oberyn took her hand and squeezed it reassuringly. “We will.” He said. “The families are up in arms about what’s being done to Ned. Nobody will stand long for it.” His voice suddenly seemed to get lower, darker, more firm. It was his best constable voice- one Jon remembered from when he and Robb had nicked a carton of cigarettes from the corner market and been fake arrested by the man. “Sansa, I need you to promise me, p _romise me_ , that you won’t do anything foolish. If we are going to act- we need to be smart about it. This isn’t just Joffrey anymore. It’s _King_ Joffrey.”

Sansa nodded. “I promise.” She said. Overhead they could hear the gentle rumble of thunder, the soft patter of rain as it splashed against the partly opened windows and filled the air with moisture and frost. “I’m scared.” she whispered. Jon gaped at her. It was the first time he had ever heard her say the words, although each time she spoke of him it was written on her face. “He’s a sick, sadistic bastard.” She spat, every word wet with malice. “He wouldn’t hesitate to hurt them. Just to get back at me.”

Oberyn promised that he would round up the other Starks and bring them out to the cabin later that night. All except Catelyn, who refused to leave the house in case Ned or Elia should call and have need of something in his office. “It will be tough.” He said, squeezing her hand. “The media is placing a lot of strain on you since your marriage and especially since your father’s arrest. First and foremost I need to keep you safe through all this. But I should be able to bring the rest of them here tonight.” He hugged her goodbye, his arms around her as tight and reassuring, as she needed them to be.

It was nearly two in the morning when Sansa heard the familiar sound of gravel crunched beneath tires and knew that Oberyn had returned. She rushed out to meet them, her slippered feet pushing through the snow and hail that had been brought down by the ferocity of the storm that had struck a few hours before.

She found herself unconsciously counting their heads, as though afraid he had not been able to bring everyone, her eyes finding Robb, Arya, and Bran, before a flash of silver brought her eyes to Dany coming out of the backseat.

“I’m so glad you’re here.” Sansa said, pulling her family into her arms. It wasn’t until she felt wetness on her cheeks that she knew she was crying. Not of sadness, as she had thought, but of relief. They were here. At least they were safe. Even if her father wasn’t…

Sansa pushed the thought away and kissed Bran on the cheek, watching him flush happily. “It’s beautiful here, Oberyn.” He commented. “It looks like something straight out of a sci-fi novel.”

“That’s what I was going for.” Oberyn responded cheerily.

“Have you heard anything?” Arya asked, almost immediately when they entered the house. Sansa shook her head. She took a step closer to her sister, making Sansa’s brow rise. “And about Joff…if you need me to do something to him just let me know. Gendry plays rugby at the same club. He could easily put a cricket it his beer or something. Maybe steal his clothes while he’s in the shower?”

Sansa chuckled, the build up of stress in her chest giving slightly. “Thanks, Ar. I’ll keep that in mind.”

While the rest of the family went to their beds- or in most of their cases, couches or makeshift beds, Sansa stayed awake. She daydreamed of defeating the evil that was Joffrey Baratheon, of hurting him as deeply and lastingly as he had hurt her. She imagined him being run out of Westeros, forced to live in a land far from all that he knew, friendless, powerless. Just to think of it made her smile.

She thought back to what Oberyn had said. Since she had known him Joffrey had always been quick to dispel the rumours about his mother and his uncle. When one of their classmates had made a joke about his father-uncle Joffrey had nearly killed the boy- rather, he had sent two of his wanna-be-henchmen to do the job. The next day the boy had appeared in class with a black eye and three broken ribs and he had never said another word about Joffrey.

Sansa had been taught to think there was nothing to the rumours. That they were just words and words are wind. But if it was true…if Joffrey was wholly Lannister and held no ounce of Baratheon the laws of succession would have it so he could not sit upon the Iron Throne. He could no more be king than she could. The crown would pass to the next Baratheon instead, Stannis.

Sansa turned on her side, her icy feet nestled between Jon’s for warmth and he flinched slightly in his sleep. Stannis was a cold man, surely, but he held no true evil as Joffrey did. He was smart and clever and highly educated, doing well to manage his father’s company. Without a shadow of a doubt Sansa was sure he would make a just and fair king.

She sighed. It would be impossible to prove. There would be no way to get Joffrey’s DNA and compare it to his father’s. It would be easier to bring a dragon back from the dead and roast the king alive.

“Stop plotting and go to sleep.” Jon muttered.

“I am sleeping.” Sansa lied.

“I know you’re not.” He returned, shifting closer to her. “I can practically hear your brain working. Whatever you’re thinking can wait until morning.” A moment of silence passed between them. “Think of it like this, the less sleep you have the less fresh you’ll be and the less ideas you can come up with.”

“Fine.” Sansa muttered, turning on her side. Jon had just shaved, the skin of his neck as smooth as hers, and when she pressed her brow against it she could feel him smile slightly. He exhaled long and low, his heart beating steady but slow against her own, a calming presence.

She was glad for him. Even in all of this mess, he was here. He could easily have left, returned to his home to assist his mother or father, but instead he stayed beside her, doing everything in his power to make her laugh when she needed it and to help in her homicidal plans if necessary. Sansa leaned forward to kiss him softly, feeling his lips twitch in response, and hearing the way he gave a soft hum. Working in tune with the warmth of his arms versus the cold of the night and the way the fire crackled softly…it worked as the perfect sleeping draught and before she knew it, despite her plotting and scheming, she had fallen asleep beside him.

Sansa awoke with plans of the defenestration and dethroning of a king- and perhaps regicide should the mood strike her. She donned her robe and slippers and made her way to the kitchen, planning to cook a proper fry up in hopes of whetting both appetite and scheming. But when she arrived she found Daenerys already awake, pouring over a stack of papers as large as the dissertation she had been working on before winter break.

She looked up, grinning. “Morning, sunshine.” She greeted. “Are you ready to usurp a king?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot believe I haven't updated in so long. How do you guys even like me? Why do you even keep reading? I am so bad to you!


	38. Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Sansa looked up at him, the smile that was glued to her face so tight that her cheeks had begun to hurt. She was dressed finely, in a gown that had been pushed all the way to the back of her wardrobe. A light mauve, a colour she remembered Joffrey had always loved. _It goes well with your hair_ , he had said, tugging at one of her braids a bit too tight.

The crown upon his head was heavy with jewels and gilded piping, nothing like she had ever seen King Robert wear. He looked smug, sitting upon the Iron Throne with a cocksure arrogance displayed by the way he sat, wide legged and lazy, as though he owned the entire room and everyone in it.

The people of court had whispered when she had walked in, thinking for some unbeknownst reason that whatever chiding words were whispered behind their fans or their hands could not be heard. But they rippled through the hall, echoing against the marble and striking her each time like a slap.

It was horrid enough that she had to stand before him and curtsy like a proper lady, that she had to pretend that the hand that took hers hadn’t left bruises in the shape of fists down her back, that those wormy lips hadn’t forced their way against hers. And to have them whispering about her…it made her cheeks colour with rage.

“Your majesty.” She had curtsied. “I thank you for calling upon me.”

The words were heavy as a stone on her tongue. She hated herself for having to say them, for having to pretend that every moment spent in his presence was not a moment of sheer agony. “My lady Stark.” He said, his lips turned upwards in a cruel smile. “Or should I now say, Lady Targaryen. A woman wedded and _bedded_.” He added, the intonation of his voice making her skin crawl. “It has been a while since I’ve seen you. I am happy to look upon your beautiful face, even if it does look a bit tired today. Has something or some _one_ kept you up this night?”

Her cheek twitched in disdain. “You are kind to care so greatly about my wellbeing, my lord-“

“Your majesty.” He corrected at once. He adjusted in his seat, looking quite pleased with himself.

“Of course, I pray forgiveness, your majesty.” She replied, lowering her head in a submissive gesture.

All too quickly she remembered the person she had once been around him, cold and measured and pliant. He liked her that way, able to manipulate or pressure her into whatever thought he wanted. She hated herself for having fallen for the act he excluded, beautiful and popular, everything she had thought she had wanted when she was younger.

“Nothing to forgive, sweet girl.” Joffrey said.

His voice was purposefully loud enough to reach every ear in the room, though that was not a difficult feat. As soon as Sansa had been announced and called forth into the room all trace of conversation had died away at once. It would not be long until the over exaggerated contents of their meeting would be spread throughout the city. Most likely it would be spattered throughout the tabloids, hinting that perhaps they would get back together, perhaps Sansa was begging for her father’s life, perhaps she was attempting to seize the throne.

If only they knew how accurate the last options were.

Sansa raised her eyes to meet the King’s, knowing full well that as she had curtsied to him the lapels of her gown had come slightly undone and revealed the slight curve of breast she had thought he would never again see. He shifted in his throne, looking pleased, and announced to the room his intentions. “Perhaps we should retire to a more _private_ location?”

Sansa was shunted off to a side room of the throne room as Joffrey attended to the remanence of whatever business he needed to attend to. She awaited Joffrey anxiously, knowing in her mind what they had planned, what she was going to do. How seriously she would be punished if found out.

She pushed the thought away, turning to look at the dusty books that lined the shelves and wondering how many Joffrey had actually red. _Macbeth_ , she hoped.

“Take whatever you want.” Said Joffrey, his voice making her jump. “Nobody reads those dusty old books anyway. Most of them are rubbish.”

Sansa was careful not to roll her eyes, especially as she remembered the time she had told him she was reading Beowulf and he said that it sounded delicious. “You are most generous, your majesty.” She said. The words tasted stale on her tongue.

She gave him her back, the familiar click of the lock turning in its grate making her blood icy. “It’s been a while.” He commented. In so tight a space she could smell his cologne. It was the same one his father had worn, called something masculine and stupid, like _glacial canyon_. She hated it then and she hated it all the more now, perfuming the air like a boggy stink.

_._ “Aye.” She said. Her eyes were glued to the bookshelf. Reading the same titles over and over again was far preferable to looking into his face. “It has.” _But not long enough._

“How has my father’s law been treating you, Lady Targaryen?” he asked.

She bit her bottom lip to stop her from spitting in his face and turned around. “Well, my lord.” Said she. “And you?”

“Very well.” He boasted. “Unfortunately a royal wedding takes ages to prepare or else Lady Elinor and I would have already completed all of the laws…requirements.”

Sansa grimaced. Surely Lady Elinor was as disgusted with Joffrey as was her cousin Margaery- and every other woman in the Seven Kingdoms. But Sansa smiled anyway, making polite conversation about the type of wedding decorations and the flavour of cake that would be served. No doubt Joffrey thought she was angling for an invitation to the wedding, when in truth Sansa only desired to pass the time in his presence.

“I’ll make you a drink.” Joffrey said. She knew he was not asking, merely telling her what she was to do. She nodded and before long a crystalline glass was pressed into her hand, the amber liquid bitter against her nose as she brought the glass to her lips.

In the back of her mind she was glad she had not taken her eyes off of him, desire the fact that the Young King had turned his back to her, for he was the type to be so bold as to drop something into her glass.

She remembered all too well a night long ago, when he _had_ done so, mixing an unsupervised drink that had left her slurring and stumbling. She thanked the Gods every day that Brienne Tarth had spotted her from across the room and quickly excused herself from the conversation she had been holding with Renly and Loras to come to her aid. The girl had held tightly her hand for the next quarter hour until Robb had arrived at the house, looking murderous. Sansa had been sure that Robb would have killed Joffrey that night had it not been for Jon, who had emerged from the back seat of the car and grabbed her brother around the shoulders, whispering something to him that Sansa was too unhinged to understand. But all three had arrived safely home that night- and Joffrey had gone to sleep having no idea that he had so narrowly escaped death.

Shifting on the balls of his feet, Joffrey lifted his glass. “To my health.” Said he. In the sunlight that slanted in through the half curtained window she could see a glittering chain about his neck, its filigree gold fitted and the charm bearing the familiar Baratheon sigil. She ached to wrap her fingers around the cord and pull and pull until his haughty face had gone purple.

“To your health.” She repeated, lifting the glass to her lips.

“It’s proper to curtsy to your king during a toast.” Said Joffrey.

Had he been any other man Sansa would assume he was joking. Instead she gave a pinched smile and did as she was told, lowering herself into an obsequious curtsy, her eyes lowered and her knees trembling beneath her gown as she dipped low.

“To your health, your majesty.” Sansa gave a final, sycophantic touch that made the King grin rabidly.

_Just a bit of pressure_ , Oberyn had said. _A bit more than you usually would and that’s all it takes_.

Sansa did as she and Oberyn had practiced. Their glasses touched. Sansa’s wrist held stiff to fend off the pressure of his own, too-firm grip. And just as it had the previous night, the glass in her hand shattered. She could feel the crystal bite into her palm, sharp and quick, the sting of the alcohol seeping into the cut making her gasp.

Joffrey cursed loudly, the sound of shattering glass filling the air. She wondered if someone had heard, if they would come running. But no one came. With a sickening twist of her stomach she realised the King had probably instructed the servants of the castle to leave them be. They were at once completely alone. But this time it would work to her favour.

He shouted a curse, cradling his bleeding hand. A long cut lay across his palm from thumb to forefinger, peppered with glass shards and bleeding. Sansa dabbed at the blood with a handkerchief, holding his hand affectionately and whispering sweet words to him. Almost at once his rage and temper subsided, perhaps from the shock of her behaviour. It had been a long while since he had seen her so pliant.

She tore a strip from the hem of the cloth and wrapped it around his hand, stopping the bleeding almost at once. “I don’t know what happened.” she babbled, doing her best to act as mystified as he was.

“Cheap shit.” He announced, as thought that were the answer they were searching for. He jerked his chin down toward the shattered glass. “Gift from my uncle.”

Before she could take a step back the King’s lips were on hers. Sansa had thought that she remembered how Joffrey’s lips felt, thick and cold and obstinate. She had thought that she remembered the way he pushed his tongue against the roof of her mouth and his teeth gnashed against hers, wild and clumsy. But the moment he had touched his lips to hers Sansa realised how she had forgotten all of it.

Jon’s mouth had become familiar instead of Joffrey’s. She had long ago memorised the way his head tilted in tandem with hers, the way his hand held her cheek and guided her head. His kiss was what she ached for now.

Sansa clutched the handkerchief tight in her palm and thought of Winterfell, hoping it would be over soon. His free hand was on her breast, palming at it viciously, though through the layers of her gown she could barely feel it. He was hungry, vicious on her lips. She knew he would not care if she stayed limp in his grasp, as she had so many times before. She need only wait.

A loud knock on the door granted her reprieve. The King pulled away, messily wiping her lipstick from his mouth with the back of his sleeve. She folded the handkerchief into the pocket hidden within the ruche of her skirt and turned back to the King, awaiting dismissal.

He was being summoned to the Throne Room. Though she turned her ear away she could hear the irritation in his voice as he spoke. “I am the _King_.” He seethed. “I will not be summoned to my grandfather like a child.” And yet he went, trudging along like an ill-tempered child, bidding Sansa await his return.

But as soon as he was gone from sight Sansa quit the chamber and returned to the Black Gate, where the royal guard excused her. She had not remembered how far she had walked when first leaving the car behind at the start of her journey, but however long it had been it felt longer still as she returned.

She had implored Jon and Oberyn not to follow too closely, lest they been seen and thrown into the same black cells that kept her father locked away. She was not sure how Joffrey would react to the implied slight against his family by hers. Since Oberyn had taken them into hiding she was too afraid to read the news and too skeptical to believe the rumours smeared across the tabloid covered littering every newsstand. They would have her believe hundreds of Starks and those linked to them had been detained or arrested. That they would be executed. But she had heard nothing of the sort from Oberyn, who kept close watch on the King’s doings.

Sansa walked for far longer than she could keep track of but until she came across a familiar book shoppe she did not stop. Half of her was afraid she was being followed, quickening her pace until her feet were sore and her calves ached as though they had been engulfed in flame. She restrained herself from looking constantly over her shoulder, half afraid of what she might find.

The door of the shoppe jingled as it was opened, a set of dainty silver bells alerting the owner to any who would enter. Gilly Tarly looked up from the book in her lap and smiled fondly. “Thank the Gods.” she said. “We were starting to get worried.”

Sansa remembered coming here long ago, when Jon had still worked in the shoppe as a teenager. He had always been kind to her, even then, when they had barely said three words to each other per meeting.

Jon was pacing when she found him and she was barely through the door before he was at her side. His fingers lifted her chin, searching her face searchingly. He said nothing, nor did she offer it. But when she gave a nod, her fingers trembling as she offered the bloody handkerchief to him he gave a sigh of relief, mimicked by her own.

Jon pushed aside the cloth, which was taken up by Oberyn, and turned his attentions to her instead. He kissed her injured palm tenderly before his lips found her face. If he tasted the King’s stale kiss he said nothing, only held her tight to him and cradled her face in his palms.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered, her face pressed into the way cavity of his shoulder. She could feel Oberyn’s soothing palm on her back, his lopsided smirk coming into her vision. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” Sansa returned. Though her knees had given way beneath her the defiance had not left her voice, sparking in the air like static. “I did what I had to. It’s for them.” she said. _All of them_.

**Author's Note:**

> I am not super proud of the summary so I think I will edit it in the future but I was very anxious to post the first chapter of this fic because I am in love with the arrange marriage trope! So I hope you liked it!


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